The Very Merry Widow
by darylsdiva1
Summary: World War II AU. Carol and Daryl meet at a USO canteen in 1945 e parallels between the Walker Apocalypse and the devastation of WWII kept me going on this one after inspiration hit. I hope it makes sense to you too.
1. Chapter 1

World War II AU. Carol and Daryl meet at a USO canteen in 1945 Atlanta.

* * *

Notes: For visual reference, Daryl would look like short haired, clean shaven NR in "The Notorious Betty Page" and MMB like more like she did in "The Dangerous Lives of Altar Boys."

In 1940, pianist Fats Waller recorded a novelty song called "Abercrombie Had a Zombie" about the effects of the cocktail on a previously law-abiding citizen who has a few Zombies and becomes a public menace. The rum and fruit juice drink had been a big hit at the 1939 World's Fair in New York, but was infamous for the punch it packed while seeming merely to be an innocent fruity concoction. Something like our Carol in Alexandria...

* * *

 ** _The Very Merry Widow_**

 _When it was teatime she used to stop in  
_ _For a cup of tea with Mrs. Abercrombie  
_ _But now at teatime she likes to drop in  
_ _For a double scotch and soda or a zombie_

 _The merry widow wore the smartest dresses  
_ _In the sheerest black she looked excitingly swell  
B_ _ut she packed her pretties away  
_ _Wears a uniform ev'ry day_

 _Now the little lady has no time for dancing  
_ _Does her job with great devotion  
_ _She's a cinch for big promotion  
_ _And they say she does her duties very, very well_

 _Very, very well,  
Very, very well._

 _CHORUS:_

 _Now she hasn't any time for sambas  
_ _And she hasn't a minute to spare for boogie-woogie  
_ _Hip-hip-hooray, she's on her way, no time to play now  
_ _This merry little widow is a busy little widow  
_ _Working for the U.S.A._

From the film "Pin Up Girl" (1944), Lyrics: Mack Gordon / Music: James V. Monaco, Betty Grable & Chorus (Film Soundtrack) – 1944

* * *

"Europe or the Pacific?" Carol asked the tall soldier who was holding her so carefully in his arms.

"Pacific, Miss. 6th Marine Division scout and sniper, Company H of 29th Marine Regiment, just out of Okinawa." the man said somewhat softly in a gravely south Georgia drawl as if he was reporting for duty. His demeanor and his looks were an odd combination. His broad shoulders and muscular arms pulled tight against his beige uniform shirt, tailored to his lean frame. The long length of his legs was emphasized by the red stripe down the side of the dark blue razor creased pants, a tan belt circling his narrow waist, and there was a spit polish shine on his brown shoes.

He exuded strength, but there was an edge to it, as if he'd been restored to health after a serious illness and so didn't take it for granted. The rust blonde hair was clipped short against the tanned column of his neck, making his slightly pointed ears stick out a bit from his head, but fell in slightly longer than regulation bangs down onto his brow, giving him a bashful look when he ducked his head down as he spoke.

Carol met his eyes and got lost in the sadness and longing she saw there behind the warm blue.

"I...I...I heard it was bad there, Marine." Carol said, feeling anything she could say would be inadequate.

"Suppose that's why they give us an extended R n' R, Miss."

"Carol."

"Miss Carol." he nodded with a hint of a smile playing at his lips. They turned up more on the left, which was emphasized by the beauty mark at the curve of his cheek.

Carol looked at him expectantly.

He blinked at her and his feet briefly faltered in the dance as if he couldn't concentrate on more than one thing at a time.

"My buddies call me Dix...or Double D..." he mumbled, coming to a standstill.

"What did your _folks_ name you?" Carol asked him, her eyes crinkling at the corners with her sweet encouraging smile.

"Uh—oh...Daryl...Lance Corporal Daryl Dixon." he said, staring down at her.

"And where are you from, Daryl?" Carol asked, gently trying to start him moving again by stepping towards him, but instead she came up hard against the wall of his chest when he didn't move.

"Oh—s-sorry Miss...Carol..." he stammered, his hands going to her upper arms to stabilize her. "Ain't much of a dancer..." he added, embarrassed.

"Then why'd you ask me to dance?" Carol asked him, curious.

She'd just started here at the USO, one of the many things her husband had never let her do. Now that he was gone, now that she was alone, she felt it was her duty to volunteer here while she waited for her application to join the women's service core was being processed. She'd been standing along the edge of the dance floor talking to her young friends, the lovely Maggie Greene and her vivacious blonde younger sister, Beth, who'd just turn eighteen and had finally been given permission to come work at the canteen by their strict father, a Baptist preacher.

Both girls were dressed stylishly, Beth in virginal white with blue ribbons that matched her kewpie doll eyes and Maggie in palest saffron yellow. One of them alone would have been a KO to any young man's heart and standing next to them in her widow black, Carol felt like a crow amongst song birds.

When the handsome southerner in his crisp dress uniform had approached them, Carol had expected him to gravitate to one or the other of the sisters and had started to step back to give him a clear field. Instead he had stopped in front of her and held out his hand.

"Only way I could think to talk to you." Daryl said, blushing, and his guileless honesty made Carol's lipstick red rosebud mouth open in surprise.

"How about we get a cup of Joe?" Carol suggested, raising her eyebrows at him.

"I'd like that." Daryl nodded and stepped back, releasing her arms and sticking out his elbow in invitation to escort her to the coffee urn at the back of the room.

Sitting at one of the small café tables in the outdoor courtyard, the sounds of the orchestra playing their version of _Red Sails in the Sunset_ , Carol studied the man seated across from her.

"May I ask you something?" Carol said.

"Only if I get to ask you something back." Daryl said, leaning back and giving her a smiling narrow eyed look as he tapped his pack of Pall Malls against the table before pulling one out and lighting it.

Daryl silently offered her a cigarette, but she declined, taking a sip of her black coffee instead, grimacing slightly before she spoke.

"Long as I'm free to say no." Carol quipped back.

Daryl nodded in agreement, the bargain struck, and then blew out a smoke trail to the side to keep it from going into her face.

Carol studied him again for a minute before she spoke, wondering what it was about him that was so different than the other young men she'd met tonight; why _his_ soul in particular spoke to hers.

"There must be twenty women here tonight—why did you ask _me_ to dance?"

"Your dress." he said, his voice dropping into that low gentle register as he stared back at her. "It's in your eyes...you lost someone...right?"

Carol stared back, caught in some spell of shared grief he was casting.

"I lost someone too..." he huffed out a little sigh, tapping the ash off his half smoked cigarette, a crooked trail of smoke rising from the still burning end, "lost _everyone_... my folks before the war... my brother Merle—he was in the Navy- a few weeks ago; kamikaze attack on his ship."

"My husband..." Carol said, "Six months ago."

Daryl nodded in understanding, taking another drag into his lungs and exhaling slowly; the number of war widows grew every day.

"Not in the war—he was 4F—he went to pick up our daughter after dance class. He was drinking... hit head on with a logging truck; died instantly. She lived for a few days after the accident." Carol said, her quiet voice raw. Even six months later, talking about it was like someone was plunging a razor sharp blade through her heart.

" _Shit_ —I didn't mean for you to have to—shit, I'm sorry!" Daryl said, berating himself, stubbing his cigarette out rapidly into the ashtray. He'd just wanted to be with someone real, someone who'd shared the experience of grief and instead he'd opened up obviously fresh wounds. Reaching out, he put his hand over hers, his thumb locking her delicate fingers against his palm.

"Are you hungry?" Carol asked him suddenly, gripping his hand back.

At first Daryl looked perplexed, but then nodded agreeably, glad she wasn't mad at him. The lukewarm coffee and stale donuts here weren't much of a reason to stay. If she wanted to go grab a bite he was game.

"Come on." Carol said, and stood, keeping a firm hold on his hand. "I know a great place."

* * *

The great place turned out to be _her_ place, a fourth floor walk-up near the hospital. Daryl learned she was a nurse and that she had enlisted and was waiting for her orders. Carol learned his tour of duty was up, he was being honorably discharged in a month, and was stationed here in Atlanta until then.

She made omelets with dried eggs and some tinned ham she'd been saving for a special occasion, sautéed with tomatoes, peppers and onions from the courtyard V-garden plot everyone in the building had. While she cooked he talked about his days in the back hills and hollows of King County, hunting squirrels and rabbits, which had gotten him a marksmanship duty in the Marines , eventually asked to join the scout and sniper company, one of the most demanding of all jobs in the military.

The mostly solitary nature of it, sitting with one other man, his spotter, in some high vantage place form long stretches suited him, but he had also made friends with the other men in his company, all of them dependent on the others for their survival. As his buddy Glenn always said, "We can make it together, but we can only make it together." Only four of them had made it back from Okinawa, out of a group of twenty. It was more than just his brother by blood that he had lost in the war.

After dinner he helped her clear the table, rolling up his sleeves and starting the dishes without being asked, and was shocked to see that the simple gesture made her start to cry. Unsure of what he should do, he just stood and waited for her to let him know what she needed. When she wrapped her arms around him from behind and rested her head on his back, thanking him, he stayed still.

Her warmth against him felt right.

She released him after a couple of minutes and moved up to stand next to him, picking up the dishcloth to dry the few dishes from their supper after he washed and rinsed them. When the skillet was set to soak she took his hand and led him to her bedroom.

* * *

Carol had never been made love to with such _reverence._ Every touch, every gesture was worshipful and gentle. He'd started by pressing her back against the bed room door and thoroughly kissing her, spending more time on just that than her husband had ever spent on the entire act during the fifteen years of their marriage.

" _You're so soft...forgot there could be anything so soft n' good in this world..."_ Daryl whispered as he found the pins in her hair, loosening the curls to spill down over her nape. He nosed into her neck, snuffling deep, making her give a giggling snort at him.

"What? Smell good too. Everything you got goin' on here is pretty damn perfect." he told her, his hands circling around her slender waist, his lips kissing down to her collarbone, just visible in the scoop neck collar of her dress, right next to the tiny gold cross nestled there in the hollow of her throat.

Carol pushed at his chest until he looked at her face.

"You don't have to say things like that..."

"You don't know me very well sweetheart, but I _don't_ lie." Daryl said, quietly staring down at her, "I tell the plain truth, call 'em how I see 'em. Someone made you believe different, _he's_ the liar."

He said it with such sincerity that she found herself believing him. Keeping her eyes on his, slowly she reached her hands up and began unbuttoning her dress, but he stopped her.

"Let me?" he asked, somehow shy and seductive and reassuring all at the same time.

He undressed her as if he was unwrapping her, as if she was a gift to him he'd been waiting for, but wanted to savor its reveal. With each piece of clothing he removed, his lips found the silken skin underneath, tasting, lavishing it with kisses and tongue.

" _Ah fuck..."_ he moaned when he saw that her under things were black as well, lace trimmed cotton, even the brassiere. He sucked at the nipples through the cloth while he reached around to work the clasp and then helped her remove it, making her moan as he returned his mouth to its insistent mapping of the tight peaks and valleys revealed.

When he came to her garters he unclipped them easily and then knelt before her so he could slide the stockings down her legs to pool on the floor, lifting her delicately arched feet one at a time. He ran his hands back up the long smooth insides of her legs while he pressed kisses to the curve of her abdomen under her navel.

Carol gasped when his lips trailed lower just as his hands sleeked up her thighs and he repeated the same scenting of her there as he'd done at her throat.

" _Ah shit, sweetheart—you're like candy—so sweet..."_ Daryl groaned _._

" _Daryl?"_ Carol panted, unsure. "I thought you wanted—" she could see the hard length of him outlined clearly under the pressed cloth of his uniform pants.

"Trust me?" he asked, kissing back up over her belly and then lifting her so he could take her to the bed. He set her on the edge, leaning over her to kiss her more until she was strung tight, wanting whatever it was he was trying to give her.

Carol leaned back on her elbows, watching him through passion drugged narrowed eyes as he took off his tie and unbuttoned his shirt just far enough to pull it and his undershirt off over his head and then knelt in front of her again. She absently noted he had several tattoos and scars on his tightly muscled torso, but the needy look in his eyes was what held her attention.

" _Trust me?"_ he asked again, waiting until she dipped her chin in acquiescence.

Daryl put his hands on her knees and she flinched involuntarily.

" _Easy..."_ he soothed, turning his hands so he could rub his knuckles over and over on the insides of her knees until she relaxed and let them drift apart further for him. Using his fingertips only, keeping his eyes on hers he played delicate caresses up and down the down soft skin of her thighs.

What he did next shocked Carol; she was a nurse, she'd studied anatomy, but somehow all of the text books failed to mention that when tenderly caressed by a man who clearly knew what he was doing, there was a place on her body that could send her higher than any number of Zombies imbibed, her head lighter than a German airship...

He'd already made her feel wonderful with his touch and kisses, better than she'd ever felt, desired and cared for, but when his soft strong tongue rasped against that _place..._

" _What...what are you doing to me?"_ she asked breathlessly, lifting her hips and reaching her hands down to touch his head buried between her thighs. She felt the fresh stubble at his nape and tangled her fingers in the softer long locks above it.

Daryl didn't answer. Instead he sucked down, holding her hips still by spreading his hands over them, and strummed rapidly with the tip of his tongue against that most sensitive spot.

He shocked her again when, after she had just started to return to herself after the first orgasm of her life, he slid up and kissed her deeply, sharing with her the sweet taste her body had given him. Feeling wicked and bold then, she moved her hands to his belt, working the buckle, and felt his smile break the kiss.

"Your turn." Carol said, looking onto his warm blue eyes.

"You sure?" Daryl asked, looking at her searchingly.

Carol nodded yes and Daryl nodded back and reached in his pants pocket for his wallet. Opening it, he pulled out a small thin red white and blue tin about one inch square. The legend across the front read " _Merry Widows_ , Rubber Prophylactics, Sold for Prevention of Disease, Service Packet."

Carol's eyes went wide.

"They give 'em to us when we came off the ship for R&R..." Daryl said, blushing. "I didn't plan... I mean that's _not_ why I asked you to—" and then he lay back on the bed and put his arm over his eyes, about to die of embarrassment. _"Shit."_

"I think it's pretty romantic—to think of protecting us both..." and then she giggled, reading the name of the things again, "And I am a _very_ merry widow presently..." she plucked the tin from his unresistant hand, and asked, tongue in cheek, pursing her lips at him, "What do you say, Marine? Wanna screw around?"

Daryl lowered his arm and tilted his head up so he could look down at her to see if she was serious. In response she held out the tin, a dimple creasing her cheek, while she boldly placed her other hand firmly on the fly of his deep blue, now not quite so freshly pressed uniform pants.

* * *

"The world's never going to be the same after this is all over, is it?" Carol asked, resting her head on his chest. They lay in the rumpled mess of her sheets, still tangled together, sated for now, with no place else to be until morning. She thought he'd want a smoke and offered to get up and find one of her husband's old ashtrays, but he could tell it bothered her, so he'd told her he was quitting.

"No—can't be. Too much dyin'; too many changes." Daryl replied. He'd killed others to survive, but as he watched both his friends and enemies die he'd realized there wasn't much difference. When a life was snuffed out the world lost something...the _possibilities_ that person represented.

"When she died, I wished it had been me in that car instead of him. So _he'd_ been the one left behind, trying to live with the pain." Carol admitted. "I couldn't think of a reason to go on..."

"That why you enlisted?" Daryl asked. "Lookin' for a way out?"

Carol stared at him. Her friends and co-workers had been proud of her decision, congratulated her on her patriotism, her ability to 'soldier on' after her losses. Only this man, this _stranger_ who was now something more, had seen through to her real reason.

"Seen it in your eyes." Daryl said, and then reached up to hold her chin and softly kissed her. "Seen it in _my_ mirror after Merle died."

Carol's eyes started to fill with tears.

"You know the beautiful thing I realized when I saw you standing there tonight?" Daryl said, rubbing his thumb against her jaw gently, "It ain't over. There's still _good_ things. We get to start over; all of us, with each other."

He watched her, saw her eyes move to the picture of her daughter on her nightstand, saw the guilt that all survivors felt reflected in her eyes.

" _Hey_ —we ain't dead, whatever happened, happened." Daryl said, his voice rougher to draw her attention back to him, "Let's start over."

"I want to." Carol said, taking a deep breath and letting it out in a ragged sigh.

"Well, you _can_." Daryl growled low in his throat, sounding almost desperate to convince her. He'd just found her; he wasn't going to let her slip away.

* * *

AN: With a period piece like this I always like to do some research to make it as accurate as possible. The prompt was the Betty Grable film I saw on TCM, in which she sang the song that seemed so fitting to Carol, part of which is quoted above.

Then when I found out that some of the WWII era condoms were named "Merry Widows," it all fell into place;-)

"By the time the U.S. entered World War II, American soldiers were much better prepared for VD. The military stopped focusing only on prevention through abstinence and post-infection treatment, incorporating condoms on its approved list of prophylactics. Troops could purchase sets of three condoms for ten cents at "pro stations" placed for easy access, day or night. The military also created an aggressive advertising campaign promoting safe sex through prevention, combining images of sexy women with the not-so-sexy effects of VD... _Subtle hints at the tawdry or dangerous worked well for condoms, with brands like Devil Skin, Shadows, and Salome hitting the shelves in the '20s and '30s. One popular label,_ _ **Merry Widows**_ _, was named after a long-standing slang term for condoms that implied a certain illicit pleasure."_ Source: a fascinating article: Hunter Oatman-Stanford. "Getting it on: the Covert History of the American Condom." Collector's Weekly, Aug. 16, 2012.

Daryl's unit in the story is based on a real one of Scout and Sniper Marines that was at Okinawa in 1945. His uniform as described is what they wore in the Pacific theater for formal dress at that time. Source: US Marine Corps. website.

 _Thanks for reading-let me know if you like this enough for me to continue it._


	2. Chapter 2

Notes:  
Before the wide spread advent of color film, black and white photos were often colorized by being over painted with watercolor to create natural looking skin, hair and eyes.

Marines call their hat a "cover."

* * *

 _ **The (Sunday) morning after**_

Daryl awoke alone to the sound of Carol humming along with a Dinah Shore song on the radio from another room and the mouthwatering smells of coffee and ham.

 _"Although some people say he's just a crazy guy_  
 _To me he means a million other things_  
 _For he's the one that taught this happy heart of mine to fly_  
 _He wears a pair of silver wings..."_

The early morning light was a rosy pink-orange behind her bedroom window curtains giving a warm glow to the room's interior.

He glanced over to the nightstand, looking for an alarm clock or his watch and saw instead the small hand tinted photo of her daughter she'd framed, the delicate gold cross on its chain she'd worn last night pooled in a circle in front of it.

The little girl had shared her mama's big blue eyes and sprinkling of freckles, but had lighter strawberry blonde hair cut in a page boy style, curling a bit. He had noticed that loosed of its pins and mussed to the point where the carefully applied stiff spray was gone, Carol's hair sprung back into crazy curls, escaping the fashionable upsweep of the style she'd worn to the canteen.

He like the curls, thought they reflected the inner passion she'd had banked inside the somewhat prim exterior, just like the sexy merry widow black lingerie that had been such a sweet surprise last night. Hell, the whole _night_ had been a surprise...

Next to his wallet and watch on the nightstand was the small, patriotically colored tin that had so embarrassed him when he'd first shown it to her. Her reaction to it had been another surprise—in his experience, limited as it was, nice respectable girls either pretended no knowledge that such things even existed or were insulted that a guy had them, assuming he thought they were "easy."

Carol had been married—though obviously to a schmuck who couldn't even figure out or didn't care enough to learn how to get her off—and she was a nurse to boot. She'd known that the benefits of the things, including prevention of both babies and VD, outweighed any embarrassment about having them on hand.

He'd briefly wondered last night if this was something she did on the regular, bring lonely Joes home from the USO to her bed, but the ways she'd responded to him, the pain and need he'd felt from her said different. The lack of artifice and seduction on her part was real; for whatever reason _she'd let him in,_ first to her loss and then her home and finally her bed and body. She'd given him the gift of seeing behind the mask to her real self and he didn't think that it was something she'd ever done before.

Daryl sat up and picked up his watch—it was seven—and that meant he'd slept in an hour past reveille, though it was Sunday so if he was on base or the ship that had brought them back to the States he'd have been on light duty today. He looked around the room for his clothes and raised an eyebrow when he couldn't see any trace of them.

Well, that was one way to get him to stay in bed...

Stomach growling, Daryl shrugged and got up, figuring he'd at least find a towel in the adjoining bathroom and headed in there to take a piss buck naked. Stuck in the side of the medicine cabinet mirror he found a note that instructed him to go ahead and take a shower, telling him he could use the bathrobe hanging up on the back of the door.

He looked back at the thing—made from Navaho style blanket material in autumn rust browns reds and black—and saw it had squared off creases in it from folds and he supposed that it had been the schmuck's—probably packed away—and she'd dug it out for him to use like she'd offered to do with the ashtray last night. Lifting the sleeve to his nose he found that it smelled faintly of mothballs, which also reassured him. She didn't just have it out and ready for the next guy...he didn't want to _be_ the next guy. He wanted to be the _only_ guy.

Daryl turned on the spray and stepped up and into the tub, pulling the simple white linen curtain shut around him. He unwrapped and picked up the fresh white bar of Ivory soap she'd put out for him, realizing that was part of what made her smell so good to him, like home; his mother had sworn by the stuff and it was what was always in their house even after she died in the fire.

The thought made him give a little reflective grunt; the way she made him feel sure as hell _wasn't_ maternal in any other sense though. He felt himself getting hard as he remembered what it had been like to be with her last night...the way she had sighed his name and smiled when he had finally pressed home, easing in, sheathed tightly in her slickness, taking all of him deep inside, arching against him with a whimper when he found a certain spot, making sure then he hit it on every stroke.

He'd taken her hand in his and showed her how to imitate with her own fingers what he'd done earlier with his tongue, allowing her to control her own pleasure as he worked with her to find his release. She was a quick study and he looked forward to teaching her more...

Afterwards as they lay together in the afterglow of the second time, she made him explain how he knew how to do all that; how he knew more about how her body worked than she had. He'd learn later that she'd been a virgin when she'd married at eighteen and had only ever been with her husband.

"My brother was ten years older than me." Daryl said to start. "After our Momma died when I was eight, our daddy sorta went off the rails and Merle mostly took over raising me until he left home 'n joined the Merchant Marines when I was ten."

The three years between when his brother had left, the evidence of which he carried on his back, and when he had returned were something that Daryl wasn't ready to talk about.

"Didn't show back up again til I turned thirteen; he came back home and announced he had a good job back in Savannah and that I was leavin' with him."

"A job?" Carol raised her eyebrows waiting for more.

"Yeah..."Daryl said slowly, "He was a big guy—burly y'know? Nobody messed with Merle. Feed him a hammer and he'd shi—uh— _show_ you nails."

Carol smiled at his attempt to edit the Dixon mouth.

"He'd gotten a job as a bouncer at an upscale joint—" Daryl continued.

"A night club?" Carol asked.

"Down in the parlor bar you could get a drink while you waited." Daryl said slowly, with a wry twist of his mouth. "But it was upstairs where the _real_ business was run."

Carol looked confused.

"We lived in our own little house out back of the main house—nicest place I ever lived." Daryl said nostalgically, "I ran errands for the lady who owned the place, Mizz Deanna—hell of a poker player— and she made sure I went to school. Her two sons ran the bar and Merle watched out for the girls who... _worked_ there..."

He watched her face as she put two and two together. He thought the little furrow between her brows was adorable.

"Your brother took you away from your father to live in a _whore house_?" she finally said, her eyes wide.

"Not _in_ it— _behind_ it." Daryl corrected, making her snort at his parsing of the truth.

"And those women...they taught you... _that_...what you did...?" Carol said, her eyes traveling downward on her own body, her turn now to blush before she returned her eyes to his.

"Sounds bad, don't it..." Daryl said, wincing and looking up at the ceiling with a sigh. "... but it was mostly just listening to them talk in their down time...'bout how most men didn't know how to treat a woman right, how much better it could be if they took the time to get her goin' first..." he looked back over at her and she was giving him that little frown again.

"So you _didn't_... with any of them?" Carol asked.

"Nah... I was just a kid and shy as hell." Daryl said, ducking his head down, his eyes shaded by his fringe of bangs, "You'd think it'd been heaven for a teenage boy livin' there, but they were more like having a whole passel of bossy big sisters—they nagged on me and spoiled me like I was all their little brother; cooked me special food from wherever they came from. They were mostly just off the boat—Russians n' Chinese, Poles and Irish. Some of them their parents kicked 'em out because they couldn't feed all their kids they had or their folks died or they ran away because someone was...you know...hurtin' them? Or because they were just _different_..."

"Different?" Carol asked.

"You know...didn't like _men_ so much?" Daryl said, shrugging with one shoulder. Alternate sexualities wasn't something discussed in polite society and from the look on her face he wasn't sure Carol understood what he was getting at.

"But they—well, they had sex with _men_ , right?" Carol's frown deepened.

"For money. Was their job." Daryl said, squinting, trying to think of an analogy she'd get. "It's like they got paid for shoveling pig shit all day-they don't like it, but it puts food on the table, so they do it so they can go home to what really makes them happy, to the _gal_ they love."

"What was your brother thinking? Taking a child to live with _those_ kinds of people?" Carol touched the cross at her neck and looked away, troubled and uncomfortable.

"If you're gonna be ridin' off on your moral high horse you should probably put some clothes on first." Daryl said dryly, grabbing a couple of pillows and putting them behind him against the head board of the bed so he could sit up straighter, putting a little distance between them, dragging the sheets up over his lap.

Carol blanched, realizing her hypocrisy. She'd just had the most erotic encounter of her life with a man she'd met only a few hours ago, one who she'd basically picked up at a dance and brought home and invited into her bed. There was a name for women like that...the same one she'd called the women she'd just shamed Daryl and his brother about associating with...

Mortified and embarrassed, she turned pale and started to slide off her side of the bed.

"What're you doing?" Daryl asked sharply, arresting her flight.

"I don't know..." Carol admitted, freezing, facing away from him.

"Come on." Daryl said, reaching out his hand, "Tell me."

Carol didn't leave the bed, but neither did she take his hand. She stayed a little distance away from him, eyes down, her fingers playing distractedly over the chenille fluff of the bedspread. She took a deep breath and raised her troubled eyes to his.

"I don't..." she sighed, "There are things I was always told, things that were _right_ and others that were _wrong_..." Carol began, but broke off, fighting herself to get out what she wanted to say, "I don't know if I believe in _any_ of it any more, Daryl." She looked up at him, the sadness he'd seen in here before now dominant in her expression,

"What kind of a God takes my child, your brother—so many other children and brothers and husbands and sons and fathers? Should that kind of God get to tell me what's right and what's wrong?"

"Did what just happened between us feel wrong?" Daryl asked softly, dropping his hand and sliding closer to her.

"No. It didn't." Carol said, letting him put his arm around her shoulders to draw her close.

"Wrong is doin' something that hurts someone else... wrong is letting someone do something that hurts _you_... wrong is ignoring a chance at happiness... wrong is not even _tryin'_..." Daryl said quietly but adamantly, resting his chin against the curls on top of her head.

Carol slid her chilled hands onto his torso then and he reached down and covered them with his larger warmer ones, drawing them around him until they were holding one another again. He drew the covers over them both.

"Daryl?" Carol said softly, her lips to his neck.

"Yeah?" he replied.

" _I'm trying."_

* * *

Stepping back out of the shower Daryl wrapped one of her lace trimmed white cotton towels around his narrow hips, tucking in the end to keep it anchored there. He ran his hands through his short hair, slicking it back and then wiped the steam off the bathroom mirror, turning his chin up and checking his stubble. Never could grow much of a beard and all that showed now were a few chin whiskers and the start of a red blonde mustache. Maybe when he was mustered out he'd try growing one...

He looked down and damn if she hadn't left him a new toothbrush as well, so he unwrapped it and made his breath and teeth minty fresh, leaning both hands on the sink and canting his head at his reflection after he spit. She was being the perfect hostess and treating him to all the formalities a house guest deserved.

Part of him would've rather just woken up with her still wrapped in his arms, morning breath and all.

Next he headed down the hall to the kitchen and saw that she had pulled a fold down ironing board from a narrow built in cupboard there. Along with his cover, his pressed red striped pants were already draped over the back of one of the kitchen chairs, the seat of which held his folded socks and skivvies, and she was working on the tan shirt, his tie hung around her neck, the last item to finish.

At the sound of his footsteps she continued working but looked up and gestured to the stove.

"Coffee's on and there's ham and egg scramble warming in the oven for you. Do you want toast?" she offered.

"You ironing my uniform?" Daryl said, sounding cautious, unsure why the domestic scene bothered him so much.

"Can't wear a wrinkled uniform back to base, right?" she said with a sort of brittle brightness.

"You're all dressed up..." he said, looking her up and down, seeming a bit dismayed at the pearls, pretty baby blue pencil skirt, cardigan and floral blouse she was wearing. Her hair was back to its straightened and controlled pinned up style again, and a little blue velvet and net hat was perched on her head. After seeing her in all her disheveled sexy glory last night he thought she looked ridiculous done up so all prim and tidy.

"It's Sunday morning. I'm still going to church, Daryl." Carol explained. "I sing in the choir—people expect me to be there."

"So you're kicking me out?" Daryl asked, softly hurt. Was last night all of her he would get after all?

"No...I mean I didn't think you'd want to...I thought that you'd _have to_ get back to base..." Carol said awkwardly.

"No—got a weekend pass." Daryl shook his head, "Not AWOL until tomorrow reveille."

"Do you want to—" Carol began, while at the same time Daryl said:

"Can I maybe—" and they finished together:

"...got to church—"

"...with me?" Carol asked.

"With you?" Daryl returned, a hopeful look on his face.

"I'd like that."Carol smiled at him, a happy relieved smile that lit up her whole face.

It was then that Daryl realized she'd been just as afraid he'd leave and she'd never see him again as he'd been that she'd hand him his cover and lock the door behind him. He went to her then, coming up behind her and kissing her neck, his hips pressing into the softness of her ass and his muscled arms going around her. He took the iron out of her hands and set it aside and then turned her to face him.

"There was a _robe_." Carol said dryly, noting his near nudity in the towel as her hands gripped his biceps and then slid up to his shoulders, tilting her head back to look at him.

"Never wear the things." Daryl scoffed, leaning in, his lips almost touching hers.

"Then go get dressed." She ordered breathlessly, giving him a dismissive quick peck, which he didn't let her get away with, deepening the kiss and dipping her back.

"We'll be late..." Carol protested, her mouth against his, before he kissed her again _, "You still have to eat..." (_ kiss _)"I have to finish ironing..."_ (kiss) " _We only have one condom left..."_

At that his head came up. He had definite plans tonight that involved that last prophylactic and getting those fussy clothes back _off_ her.

"Leave it to me to fall for a practical woman." Daryl growled good naturedly, releasing her and grabbing his underwear, socks and pants off the chair, heading back to the bedroom to change.

Carol turned back to the ironing board, continuing the task she'd set for herself, working on straightening the shirt sleeve before she sprinkled starch water over it and pressed it. Then she stopped and almost dropped the iron, looking down the hall after him.

" _Fall for?"_ she whispered to herself.

* * *

Thanks for reading! I'm having fun listening to Big Band music for this one!

 _He Wears a Pair of Silver Wings_ is a real 1942 hit song, performed by Dinah Shore and later Kay Kyser. It reminded me a lot of Daryl  & his vest;-)(Michael Carr (music), Eric Maschwitz (lyrics).


	3. Chapter 3

_Daryl and Carol go to church (and it turns out better than when they did that in S2 & S5...)._

Vocabulary Notes: The narthex (or vestibule) is a sort of enclosed front porch area in a church building where one enters from the outside, before going into the sanctuary proper. A sacristy & vestry are the 2 rooms on either side of the altar.

In trying to keep the dialogue in period I've used the 40s term 'colored' for African American.

 _Gams_ : legs, usually those of an attractive female, (also _stems_ and _sticks)_

 _Maggie's drawers:_ Red flag used on rifle range to indicate a miss.

 _Zombie:_ Soldier who falls in next to lowest category in Army classification tests, (also _goon_ )

 _Khaki wacky:_ Boy crazy, focused mainly on soldiers

Source: "Glossary of American Slang." _American Speech_. Vol. 16. No. 3 (Oct. 1941) pp. 163-169. Duke UP. and

* * *

Daryl took a seat towards the back of the still mostly empty sanctuary of the small Baptist church of which Carol was a member. She was up at the front along with the other members of the choir running through the day's hymns with the organist, who was also the choir director, a small blonde in her mid to early forties that Carol had introduced as Patricia. Her hulking husband, Otis, was the church caretaker, an Army vet who walked with a pronounced limp courtesy of shrapnel still imbedded in his leg from Monte Cassino.

Daryl had helped him change the placards at the front of the church to today's hymns and bible verses—he was steadier on the ladder—which made the other man's wife smile in thanks. Then they made sure that each pew had a hymnal. While Otis went off to put on his jacket and tie for the services, Daryl had been left on his own. Most people brought their own bibles, but there were a few stacked in the back for visitors and Daryl had idly picked one up, thinking he would take a look at the day's readings.

He was still feeling a bit blue from the stop they had made in the little fenced graveyard plot next to the white clapboard church before coming inside.

Carol had him fill the bucket hanging at the outside spigot with water and then pulled a pair of heavy shears from her coat pocket. He followed her to a perfectly maintained simple small white marble headstone on which was engraved the name 'Sophia Rose Pelletier' with birth and death dates only twelve years apart. On the larger gray one next to it, almost hidden behind overgrown weeds, was the name 'Edward Pelletier.'

Carol silently clipped the wilted and spent white wild roses from the two small leafy bushes that grew to either side of the white stone. Daryl emptied the bucket of water at their roots and then held it out for her to put the dead blooms into.

"Thank you." Carol said quietly, finishing her dead heading of the roses.

Daryl nodded and stepped back to give her some time alone at the grave, but she reached for his hand to keep him there, so he stood with her until she was ready to go inside.

As he sat in a back row pew, thumbing through the bible now, his attention was drawn by the appearance of a pretty blonde girl followed by a disapproving older man with snow white hair who rushed in through the narthex doors behind him, arguing quietly but fiercely.

"It is not my fault, Daddy! I couldn't find her—she was helping that poor boy!" a girlish voice protested.

"Bethie, the subject is closed. You may be eighteen years old, young lady, but you are and always will be my daughter and as long as you live in my house, you will obey curfew and any other restrictions which I choose to impose upon you." the rich southern tones of the older man rang out despite the softness of his voice.

"So I was just supposed to abandon Maggie?" the girl, Bethie, asked, exasperated, coming to a standstill behind the pew opposite and across the aisle from the one in which Daryl sat, but both ignored his presence.

"You know your sister is quite capable of handling herself—all you did was unnecessarily complicate the situation. You were looking for any excuse to stay out past curfew." the man said, his voice then rising in volume to a normal level, "Now go apologize to Mizz Patricia. You are late for choir practice."

The pout on the little blonde's face was big enough to land a B-52 on her lower lip. Daryl watched as she flounced off down the center aisle, all in pink, her shoulders set stiff in agitation.

"Will you be all right here or would you rather wait in the sacristy?" the older man asked.

Daryl looked up at him, confused, thinking he was being addressed, but then realized that the white haired gentleman was speaking to two other people just now coming into the sanctuary. One was a brunette young woman, a few years older than the blonde girl, but the other was dressed exactly like _him_ , his cover held under his arm _._

"Glenn?" Daryl said, shocked, standing up quickly and coming out into the aisle to face the small group.

The young Korean's face was bruised, he had a butterfly closure stuck over his left eyebrow and he was walking with a limp to rival Otis's. The woman, Maggie, hovered close to him, a look of concern on her face.

"Dix? What are you—you been looking for me?" Glenn asked, frowning, trying to figure out what Daryl was doing here.

"He didn't do anything! Those idiots attacked _him_!" Maggie protested vehemently, putting herself between Glenn and Daryl.

"Hey—Maggie it's okay—he's not an MP. Maggie Greene, Pastor Hershel Greene, this is my Buddy, Lance Corporal Daryl Dixon— _Dix_." Glenn explained, and then the two men exchanged a quick arm clasping handshake.

"What the hell—heck happened to you, kid?" Daryl asked, looking him up and down, but he could already guess. They'd had this kind of trouble before.

"Bunch a' local yokels jumped me outside the dance last night..." Glenn said wearily.

"Because he danced with me." Maggie said, righteous indignation making her eyes fill with angry tears.

Glenn was Korean, but his nation had been under the thumb of Japan and without independent sovereignty since 1910. He and his family were fluent in Japanese as well as Korean because of the Japanese government's edicts against the native language and customs.

His father, an engineer, had been able to secure passage to the States for his family in 1923, right before such immigration was banned, and he had eventually gotten his Ph.D. at USC and had worked on some of the largest dam construction projects of the WPA.

Glenn had grown up in San Francisco. He'd been seventeen in 1942 when, after Pearl Harbor, the orders had gone out that every one of Japanese ancestry, even citizens native born, had to report to Internment camps. Dr. Rhee had argued his family was Korean, not Japanese, but at the time the U.S. Government wasn't making the distinction.

Like many of the other young men in the camps, Glenn had volunteered for active service in the military. He'd expected to be sent to Europe like most of the rest, but his facility with languages and Korean lineage had earned him one of the few spots in the Pacific theatre for an Asian. He served as a Japanese and Korean translator for the Scout and Snipers, Daryl's unit. Both feeling like outsiders, they had become fast friends, with Glenn eventually training to become Daryl's spotter.

Most Americans were shit at differentiating between Japanese, Chinese and Koreans, so the rest of the guys in the unit had become very protective of Glenn when they were on leave. Last night he was supposed to be buddied up with Walsh, but the man was a notorious pussy hound, easily distracted by a long pair of gams and Daryl felt guilty he hadn't kept an eye on Rhee as well.

Glenn had never asked a girl to dance as far as Daryl could recall. He looked at Maggie with interest and then gave Glenn a raised eyebrow questioning look.

"She said hello to me in Korean!" Glenn grinned shyly, and Maggie smiled back, blushing.

"I did a missionary work in Japan and Korea right after the Great War." the white haired man said. "And we have two Korean families in this congregation. Both my girls babysit for them. We've all learned some of the language over the years."

"Pastor Greene welcomed me into his home last night after Maggie got me patched up—she's a nurse." Glenn told Daryl.

" _You_ danced with our friend _Carol_ last night!" Maggie said suddenly, finally realizing why Daryl looked familiar. "We work together at Grady Memorial."

"She invited me to services today." Daryl said, nodding and stealing a glance up at the choir.

Carol stood next to Beth, singing, but half her attention was focused on the group at the back of the church. She frowned at Daryl, but he smiled back reassuringly and then her face lit up in a warm eye crinklingly happily smitten look.

"Uh _huh_." Glenn said, grinning.

"Well, I suppose we can park you here with Mr. Dixon then, son. Come Maggie, we have a few things to do before services. Nice to make your acquaintance, Corporal." Hershel said, shaking Daryl's hand.

As they made their way down the aisle, Glenn stared after Maggie like she was the last drink of water before he left a desert oasis, teetering a bit as he leaned after her.

"Better sit your ass down, kid." Daryl growled with amusement, grabbing Glenn's shoulder for support.

"I think I'm in love, Dix." Glenn said, holding his hand to his heart.

" _Get in line..."_ Daryl said under his breath, watching as the choir finished and Carol greeted Hershel and Maggie then had a quick word with them and Beth, obviously getting an explanation about Glenn's presence.

"Huh?" Glenn asked, blinking over at Daryl. He followed Daryl's gaze line.

Carol inclined her head to listen to Beth pour out her side of the story of last night's events after her father and her sister went into the Sacristy. She put her arm around the girl's shoulders, smoothing her hair back and smiling in understanding. Daryl could see a certain sadness underlying the motherly gesture—the girl wasn't that much older than her daughter had been.

Daryl just grunted back, moving sideways back into the pew, bringing Glenn along with him and sitting down.

"Just where _did_ you disappear to last night, buddy?" Glenn asked, eyeing him speculatively.

"Sorry I wasn't there—Shane bug out on you?" Daryl said, evading the question.

"Yeah—he was bird dogging some Betty Grable type—think she said her name was Andrea—and Rick couldn't make up his mind between the sassy colored girl cutting the cake to hand out and the lush honey blonde manning the free haircut booth. This town is lousy with gorgeous dames, brother."

"So you got cornered?"

"After we finished our dance we wanted to talk some place quiet—I just wanted to ask how she knew Korean—you know? Not every day a beautiful woman even wants to _look_ at me, let alone be willing to trip the light fantastic. Maggie didn't even blink an eye at the looks we were getting—it was amazing— _she's_ amazing." Glenn rhapsodized. "We went out onto the patio there."

"How many of 'em?" Daryl asked.

"Three—bunch a' Zombies—local guys home on leave—Maggie knew one them, Randall something—she said he lost his cousin at Iwo Jima. Started calling me a Jap...the usual stuff...asked how many babies I'd bayoneted; said I was an insult to the uniform. Called her a traitor whore for even talking to me."

And then Glenn laughed, though it made him hold his sore ribs. He leaned closer and said in a whispered tone of utmost amusement,

"One of them got a hold of me; tried to choke me out...and when she tried to kick him in the knee to make him let go of me, she kicked him in the _balls!"_

"Maggie's drawers!" Daryl snorted, using a slang term sharp shooters had for the red flag thrown down when a shot completely missed a target.

"I know, right? She shut him down but quick. The other two got their licks in though before a couple of MPs stepped in. Cracked a rib or two, but I'll live." Glenn assured him. "Lucky break she was a nurse, right?"

"Lucky break." Daryl agreed, sitting up straighter when he saw Carol starting down the aisle with the younger Greene daughter. When they made it to the pew where he and Glenn were sitting both men stood, Glenn with a bit more effort.

"Beth Greene, this is Lance Corporal Daryl Dixon." Carol said politely and the girl held out her hand to him, turning on her biggest wide eyed smile, batting her long eyelashes at him.

"Well _hello_ , seems like we're just having a little invasion from all the handsome Marines this weekend." Beth sighed in a honey sweet drawl, still holding his hand and staring, making Daryl raise an eyebrow at her.

"I'm Glenn." the other Marine present piped up to no one in particular.

Daryl pulled his hand out of Beth's and looked at his friend apologetically and then turned back to Carol.

"This is my buddy Glenn Rhee." Daryl said, "Glenn, this is my... _Carol_..." he finished awkwardly.

Carol looked over Glenn's injuries with a gaze of empathy and then surprised him by enclosing him in a careful hug.

"I'm so sorry this happened to you." Carol said quietly, rubbing small comforting circles on his back.

" _Your_ _Carol?_ " Glenn mouthed archly, looking over her shoulder at Daryl. Never one to let something go, he was immensely entertained to see Dixon blushing.

Daryl already knew Carol was special; her actions to give comfort to his friend instead of just seeing his differences cemented it for him.

Carol released Glenn and they smiled at each other warmly. Daryl stepped closer to her and gently put his hand on the small of her back, a gesture that oh so quietly claimed her.

"Looks like _all_ the dreamboat Marines here are already taken." Beth frowned.

"Wait—so what _did_ your sister _say_ about me, cookie?" Glenn asked, turning to little Greene and pulling her aside, deflecting the attention away from Carol and Daryl.

As they talked, Carol tilted her head at Daryl, who took her hand and led her through the sanctuary doors and into a dark corner of the narthex.

Looking over his shoulder first to make sure they were alone, Daryl leaned in and kissed her, smiling when he felt her arms go around his neck to hold him close.

" _Been an hour since I done that..."_ Daryl whispered _, "Missed you."_

Carol smiled up at him, pleased, and he used his thumb to correct the line of her lipstick on her bottom lip that had gotten mussed in the process of the kiss. They could hear Beth's giggling laugh at something Glenn said all the way out here.

"I think that child is a little khaki-wacky." Daryl said, huffing out a little snort. He'd seen girls like her in most canteens and USO way stations—naïve teens who had stars in their eyes to meet a soldier, thinking it the ultimate in romance, ignoring the potential for tragedy and loss.

"I can't believe I was married at that age." Carol sighed. Beth lived a very different and very sheltered life than she had. Miss Greene had her father and sister watching over her, making sure she made the right choices.

Carol had none of that. She'd married to escape her family and had jumped from the frying pan into the fire, ending up with someone so like her alcoholic father that she'd believed it was God's will that she never find any peace in this life.

Daryl didn't say anything, but couldn't stop himself from doing the math in his head. She'd told him she'd been married fifteen years, so that meant—

"I'm thirty-three." Carol said, reading his mind again. She thrust her chin out in a silent question.

"Looks like I'm stuck on an older woman then." Daryl purred, holding her still with his hands on her waist.

"How _much_ older?" Carol went a little pale. "Please tell me you're at least thirty."

Daryl pursed his lips at her and shook his head no, enjoying this way too much.

"Oh my God." She'd thought he was just a bit baby faced with his clean close shave and shy looks. He was in his _twenties_?

"I'm twenty- _nine_." Daryl said, seeing her start to look panicked and letting her off the hook. Four years difference in their ages wasn't much; her being older than him was a little more unusual.

Carol swatted at him for teasing her and he chuckled, coming in for another quick kiss before they heard Beth calling for her to come get her choir robe on. When they walked back in to the sanctuary Glenn smirked at him. Beth and Carol made their way to the Vestry and the younger man handed Daryl his handkerchief.

"Don't think Passion Plum is your shade..." Glenn said out of the side of his mouth as they stood side by side in the pew. Daryl frowned at him until Glenn mimed wiping his mouth.

Otis ambled over just as Daryl was finishing wiping away the last traces of Carol's lipstick. He stuffed the hanky away inside his jacket, knowing Glenn wasn't ever getting it back.

The Marines made room for the wounded soldier to join them in the pew and they watched him for cues on what to do. Daryl's people weren't really church goers and Glenn's were Buddhist.

Daryl appreciated that the Reverend Greene ran a brisk service, his sermon a brief meditation on the Good Samaritan with a nod to tolerance. The choir number during the collection featured a solo by his daughter, her sweet soprano rising above the support of the lower voices, in a hymn Daryl had never heard.

 _I am going to a city  
Where the streets with gold are laid,  
Where the tree of life is blooming  
And the roses never fade._

 _Here they bloom but for a season,  
Soon their beauty is decayed;  
I am going to a city  
Where the roses never fade._

 _In this world we have our troubles,  
Satan's snares we must evade;  
We'll be free from all temptations  
Where the roses never fade._

 _Loved ones gone to be with Jesus,_  
 _In their robes of white arrayed,_  
 _Now are waiting for my coming_  
 _Where the roses never fade._

While most were focused on the soloist, Daryl watched Carol, who sang with sadness in her eyes and he knew she was thinking of her daughter and the faded Cherokee roses she'd taken from her grave that morning.

He felt an unaccustomed rush of emotion fill his chest—he didn't want her to be sad, _ever_. He wanted to protect her and shield her from any more losses. He wanted her happy and strong and hoped that being with him could somehow help her be that way and if it wasn't then he'd help her find whatever or whoever did.

Daryl Dixon had never been in love, but he thought maybe...just maybe... _this_ was what it felt like.

* * *

 _A little relevant history:_

Monte Cassino: a strategically important Allied victory in Italy, 1944.

WPA: Works Progress Administration, Depression era jobs program of public works to improve the US infrastructure by building, roads, bridges dams etc.

"During its occupation from 1910 - 45, Japan built up Korea's infrastructure, especially the street and railroad systems. However, the Japanese ruled with an iron fist and attempted to root out all elements of Korean culture from society. People were forced to adopt Japanese names, convert to the Shinto (native Japanese) religion, and were forbidden to use Korean language in schools and business. The Independence Movement on March 1, 1919, was brutally repressed, resulting in the killing of thousands, the maiming and imprisoning of tens of thousands, and destroying of hundreds of churches, temples, schools, and private homes. During World War II, Japan siphoned off more and more of Korea's resources, including its people, to feed its Imperial war machine. Many of the forced laborers were never repatriated to Korea." _Source:_

"The Immigration Act of 1924 effectively banned all immigration from Japan and other "undesirable" Asian countries. The **internment of Japanese Americans** in the United States was the forced relocation and incarceration during World War II of between 110,000 and 120,000 people of Japanese ancestry who lived on the Pacific coast in camps in the interior of the country. Sixty-two percent of the internees were United States citizens. The U.S. government ordered the removal of Japanese Americans in 1942, shortly after Imperial Japan's attack on Pearl Harbor." Source: _wiki/Internment_of_Japanese_Americans_

The Japanese internment camps were one of the most reprehensible things ever done to its citizens by an American president. George Takei, of _Star Trek_ fame, spent part of his childhood in the camps and has written about it in his autobiography.

Thanks for reading!


	4. Chapter 4

_Daryl and Carol accept a friendly invitation that may come with hidden strings._

 _Silver Star:_ 3rd highest military award for valor in action  
 _Purple Heart:_ awarded for being wounded in action  
 _ducky shin cracker_ : really good dancer

* * *

After the service Carol found Daryl and looped her arm through his, following Maggie, Glenn and Beth to the back of the church where Pastor Greene was greeting each member of the Congregation in the narthex before they left. When it was their turn, the minister hugged Carol and kissed her cheek, calling her 'my dear,' and showing familial warmth; Carol was obviously close to the Greenes. When he shook Daryl's hand, Hershel invited she and Daryl to Sunday dinner at their farm that afternoon, telling him that Glenn would also be joining them.

Daryl felt a bubble of panic roll through his gut; this somehow felt like a direct command to inspection. Carol sensed his unease and started to decline for them, but something made Daryl jump in and say how much he'd appreciate a chance to get out to the country, and if a home cooked meal came with it, he was there.

Hershel took Beth with him in the farm truck, leaving the sedan for the Marines, Maggie and Carol. Maggie tossed Daryl the keys, saying she wanted to sit with Glenn in the back and make sure his ribs didn't get jostled. Glenn winked at Carol when she frowned at the flimsy excuse, knowing what was probably _really_ going to go on back there...and wishing she'd thought of a better excuse to occupy the back with Daryl.

Daryl looked happy enough to be driving, something he didn't get many chances to do, and was pleased to see the car was well maintained and had a powerful engine despite its stodgy appearance, fit to a country preacher's automobile.

Keeping one hand on the wheel except when he had to shift, Daryl used the other to hold hands with Carol, slowly getting her to move closer to him on the bench seat until he could rest his hand, palm down on her thigh over the blue skirt. Keeping his eyes on the road he slowly stroked, up and back, only moving his hand an inch or two at a time, but with each upward stroke her skirt rose just a little, until her knee was exposed.

Carol kept looking straight ahead as well, though from the soft murmurs and other noises in the back no one else in the car was paying any attention to either she or Daryl.

Carol gave a little involuntary gasp as his warm calloused fingers teased over the silk just above her knee, the jolt of heat traveling straight to her center. He really couldn't go any higher; the skirt was too tight for that, but his thumb pushed up under the hem and onto her inner thigh in a teasing stroke, leaving her in no doubt as to what he was reminding her about. She tried breathing more slowly, but the air seemed thick, she couldn't get enough into her lungs and she felt flushed all over...just from his busy hand on her knee.

If she didn't think he'd wreck the car she'd have given him back some of his own medicine—a quick glance showed he wasn't unaffected by the mood, his dark slacks tented over the bulging evidence of his desire for her.

"This it?" Daryl called to the back seat, lifting his right hand to downshift, slowing the car.

"Daryl—I've been here plenty of times, you don't need to ask—" Caryl said quietly, but he gave her a devilish look and raised his index finger to his lips asking her for silence.

It took a few seconds for the question to register to the preoccupied couple in the back.

"Maggie? Is this it?" Daryl asked again, braking the car further and coming to a complete stop at an RFD mailbox with the name Greene painted on the side.

" _What?"_ Maggie said, sounding surprised and disappointed they'd arrived already.

Daryl looked into the rear view mirror, reaching up to adjust it so he could see the occupants of the back seat and he cleared his throat, trying not to laugh at the state they were in.

Turning around in her seat Carol saw the girl attempting to straighten up her mussed hair and Glenn, lipstick smeared on his cheek and chin as well as his lips, looking a bit dazed as he leaned against the side of the car door. She looked over at Daryl and suppressed a giggle—he was _razzing_ them.

"It's the turn, yes...um...another mile down the lane before we get to the farm," Maggie explained, sounding breathless. She glanced over at Glenn and they blushed furiously when they realized both Daryl and Carol were looking at them.

"Might want to lend him your hankie before we meet up with your daddy again." Daryl drawled, "Lipstick. Just sayin'." And then he reached over and pulled Carol close, taking advantage of the stopped car to kiss her lingeringly in the hollow of her throat and up her neck, the intimacy of it taking her breath away. He pressed a final kiss to the shell of her ear and then sighed, resting his chin on her shoulder.

" _This is gonna be a hellava long day."_ He murmured softly and shifted back into driving position, putting the car into gear and heading on down the dirt lane to the Greene farm, reaching for and grasping her hand firmly in his.

* * *

"Walk with me, Daryl." Hershel said.

They had just finished helping the pastor chase about ten head of beef cattle that had broken through one of the fences and gotten loose onto the lane. Glenn's sharp eyes had spotted them from the front porch where the men had been sitting while the women finished preparing dinner, and along with the help of Otis and Maggie, who'd quickly run and gotten out her horse, Buttons, they'd been able to herd them inside the corral next to the barn.

Hershel had ordered Glenn, who was clutching his ribs in pain, back up on the porch. Otis and Maggie had gone east in the pasture to ride the fences to check for where the break was. Hershel and Daryl set out to the west to do the same on foot.

At first Daryl had shortened his stride, not wanting to stress the older man, but soon found himself lengthening it again to keep up. Hershel was like an old lion, strong and sturdy, proud of his land and protective of his family.

"I've heard from Glenn how the men in his company have watched out for him, especially you Mr. Dixon. I see that as a sign of good character. I'd take it as a kindness if you'd tell me a bit more about yourself and then about your friend Glenn. If you're to be courtin' my girls, I deserve that courtesy." Hershel said affably but with an iron thread underneath.

" _Your girls?"_ Daryl was a bit taken aback—did the old man think he was interested in the younger daughter? The kid? _Beth_?

"Carol's not mine by blood, but she is in every other way that counts." Hershel said firmly. "I wish we could've done more for her and Sophia before... well, let's just say that whenever possible they were here while her husband was on the road or on a bender."

"He hurt her?" Daryl asked in a tight voice, though he already knew the answer.

"It may sound odd to you, coming from a man of God, but I did my best to move her heart to end the marriage, but she wouldn't hear of it." Hershel said, his voice low with sorrow. "Said it was her lot and she'd stay true to her vows."

Daryl nodded. His momma had been the same.

"We almost lost her after her girl died. I was there with her at the hospital—she just stopped. Lay there on the bed holdin' that poor dead child and looked as close to death itself as I've even seen on a living person." Hershel shook his head, "My Bethie...when her momma died, she was sixteen...looked like that. We got her through... knew we could do the same for Carol. Brought her here."

Daryl was moved by the compassion he heard in the preacher's voice. He was right-Carol may not have any family left by blood, but these people had taken her into their hearts.

"It was like living with a ghost." Hershel went on, "She lost her reason for living. Then a few months ago the recruiters came to Grady, the hospital where she and Maggie work, looking for nurses to enlist; right after the news came out about the Angels of Bataan."

He was referring to a group of Army and Navy nurses who had been liberated from a three year long Japanese imprisonment in February of this year and had come home being hailed as heroes. A few of them were being toured around the country to be celebrated and used as a recruiting tool to try and fill the military nursing shortage.

"And so she did." Daryl nodded, "She told me last night." he didn't add that he'd understood her reasons had little to do with patriotism.

"She's bound and determined to go, just like Maggie." Hershel nodded, sounding troubled, "They were both recruited by the Navy Nurse Corps."

"She didn't say which branch." Daryl said.

"Interesting thing about the Navy." Hershel mused thoughtfully, "They don't allow their nurses be married..."

At that, Daryl came to a sudden stop, looking at the older man with a narrow eyed expression.

"I have no sons to send to war. I don't intend to send my daughters in their place." Hershel said, looking Daryl straight in the eye, making his message clear. "See what you can do about that, will you, son?" Then he started striding forward again.

"Yes sir." Daryl said, smiling thoughtfully, falling into step beside Pastor Greene.

* * *

"I brought you all some lemonade." Carol said, setting the tray with the big glass pitcher and several tall tumblers full of chipped ice and lemon slices down on the wicker end table beside the chair where Glenn was sitting looking out over the peaceful shady grove of pecan trees near the house. She looked around, noticing he was all alone and frowned, missing Daryl.

"Had to go check the fences after our little round up." Glenn told her as she poured him a glass and handed it to him. "Care to keep me company?"

Carol glanced over her shoulder towards the house interior. Patricia and Otis lived in the little house out back, acting as housekeeper and farm manager for the Greenes. At present Carol felt superfluous in the kitchen and had welcomed the opportunity to bring some hospitality to the men.

"For a bit—Patricia's trying to teach Beth how to fry chicken and I get so frustrated watching I usually shoo her away and do it myself—she's too slow!" Carol smiled and took the chair opposite Glenn.

"It's so quiet here...peaceful." Glenn said after a minute or two of them sitting in companionable silence. He took a sip of the cold drink and smiled in contentment.

"I love the silence...especially after a busy day at the hospital..." Carol agreed.

"This is what we're fighting for; to protect places like this." Glenn said, nodding to himself. He looked over at Carol, soothed by her seeming serenity. He could see why Dix liked being around her.

"You joined up...even after..." Carol began, but then looked at him apologetically. "I'm sorry—I heard Maggie say your family was still in Manzanar."

"Yeah." Glenn said, low and sad. "Another reason I want this damn war to be over soon as possible."

"Hershel fought them when they came to take Sun and her boys." Carol told him, referring to one of the Korean families that went to their church. "They'd all been born here in the U.S.—they're citizens. I don't know how he did it, but he convinced the officials that they since they were Korean, _not_ Japanese, and good Christians, Baptists, that she and Jerry had been married in the church, that they didn't have to go."

Glenn had met them at the church, a young Korean woman and her white husband, a Navy veteran who had lost a leg at Pearl Harbor, and their two small sons. He had been both happy for them not to have been separated from their home, but jealous at the same time.

"Sun's parents have been here since the twenties—they came back with Hershel from Korea—I guess two old people in their seventies didn't seem to be too much of a threat to the Georgia authorities." Carol told him. "They were never asked to go."

"California was a lot worse." Glenn said in a hollow voice. "They took everyone with up to one-sixteenth Japanese or Korean blood. That's one great-grandparent's worth." he looked over at her, "They put us in train cars—to go from San Francisco to Manzanar. When I saw the pictures from the death camps in Germany when the Russians went in January after... heard the stories... gave me sick chills...how much the same they looked."

"You're a good man, Glenn." Carol said solemnly. "A survivor."

"Wouldn't still be breathin' if it wasn't for Dix." Glenn said, deflecting the praise. "You seen all the lettuce he's got on his chest?"

Carol had noticed the many ribbons Daryl's uniform held. She knew they were given for military honors, but had no idea what any of them meant.

"He'd never tell you, so I will." Glenn said in a strong soft voice, "He only wears _half_ of what he could—he has the medals in a cigar box in his trunk back at the barracks—Silver Star, Purple Heart...and he's supposed to go to D.C. next week for another one."

"Another one?" Carol asked.

Glenn leaned close, motioning her forward and spoke very softly.

"From the _President_."

Carol sat back, her eyes wide.

"There were four of us in the forward squad doing recon, Daryl, me, Grimes and Walsh—we were all wounded, bad. When we got back to the rest...we were all that was left; the rest of the unit bought it. Daryl got us all out; shoved a grenade down the muzzle of a goddam _tank_ and then dragged and carried us three out to evac." Glenn said, his voice rising in wonder, but then held up his hand to forestall Carol's questions, not done with his story.

"So we get to the shoreline and he sees that the guys manning the forward Howitzers are all gone, so he jumps up and mans the big gun to keep the enemy off the rescue boats' asses. Saved all of them too. Took three guys to pull him off the gun and get him to leave with us." Glenn said, "Was only when we got on the ship that we realized he's wounded too—bullet zinged him right through the side—he finally passed out from blood loss."

Carol had seen the scar on his side—he'd told her it was from a hunting accident. Her head felt light and she put her hand to her chest to try and slow her breathing; her heart was going like a trip hammer to think of them all in such danger; how close Daryl had come to dying before she'd ever met him.

"They gave him the other medals right there in the hospital—some two star desk jockey general waltzes in and does it, smiling and posing for the _Stars & Stripes_. Thought Dix was gonna explode—broke the press guy's camera!" Glenn laughed.

"So the medal from the president?" Carol asked. "He didn't say anything to me about having to go to Washington."

" _Medal of Honor_ —highest award Uncle Sam gives out." Glenn said proudly, but then his expression darkened, "Says he won't go... says all he did was save his own ass and we got dragged along for the ride." He made a disparaging noise. "I owe him my life—he's my brother— _he's_ a good man. He deserves to have people know it."

Carol was biting her lip, tears brimming with pride at the thought of Daryl's bravery and self-sacrifice. He was so humble—too humble in her view.

"Would you talk to him Carol?" Glenn asked.

"Me?" she looked surprised.

"Well, truth be told, I've never seen Dix act like this around a woman...that's sorta how he and I first got to be friends. The other guys would be with the ladies of the house...um, I mean... pardon me ma'am, but you know what I mean..."

Carol nodded, amused and intrigued. She wondered how much of his upbringing Daryl had shared with his friend.

"And me n' Daryl would hang back and chew the fat while we waited for them. He'd never go up with them, but he didn't like it if any of the other guys disrespected the girls—seen him knock a guy out for hurting a girl at one of the places." Glenn told her.

Again, knowing his background a little, that didn't surprise Carol.

"Then the more... uh... respectable women and girls at dances?" Glenn went on, "Well, I'm no ducky shin cracker, but Dix just _doesn't_ dance. A couple of time one would try and get him to, but they'd give up on him."

"I can't be the only woman he's ever asked to dance." Carol frowned and wondered why someone who looked like Daryl would act the wallflower? Who kissed and... _everything..._ like he did?

"Want to bet? Last night was the first time since I met him that either one of us took a spin around the floor with a skirt." Glenn said with a smile.

Carol could tell he was thinking of Maggie now from the dreamy look he got on his open face.

"You like her, don't you?" Carol asked, a hint of a smile in her eyes, but a more stern expression on the rest of her face. She was as protective of Maggie and Beth as if they were her own.

"Yes ma'am I do." Glenn replied, immediately more respectful and sincere. "She's sure a special gal. Never thought I'd meet someone as sweet and kind and smart and...and as _feisty_ as her."

"I know things happen fast these days..." Carol said, giving a wry little smile. "...and I should be telling you to not lose your head, don't rush...but if you really care? If you think this could be something? All I'll say is be good to her. She deserves your best."

"You're all right, you know that?" Glenn said with a big relieved grin. "Dix is a lucky guy too; you're quite a dish—nice too."

"I don't know about that." Carol said self-deprecatingly, blushing and putting her hand on her nape, suddenly feeling the early spring heat. She poured herself a glass of lemonade and lifted her hair so she could run the iced glass across the back of her neck.

"You know, when I asked him why he doesn't act like the other guys and chase the skirts, he just says, ' _When I find the right one I'll know_ _and then you'll know_.'" Glenn said, studying her. His eyes went a little wider when he saw the small oval patch of reddened skin on the back of her neck that had been hidden by her hair, the kind of mark made by a man's mouth sucking down hard on the flesh, drawing the blood to the surface, a brand, a love bite...

Carol let her hair fall back down, unaware of what she'd inadvertently shown Glenn, a remnant from the night before, unaware that Daryl had already claimed her.

"You think you could convince Dix to take a little road trip on up to Washington?" Glenn asked suddenly.

"Me?" Carol asked, raising her eyebrows at him.

"A little vacation—say you want to see our nation's capital—get away for a few days. He'd buy that. Wouldn't he?"

"Glenn—we just met!" Carol snorted at him.

"Yeah, but he's already hook, line and sinker—trust me." Glenn returned, nodding sagely at her. "If you can get him there Shane and Rick and me will get him to the ceremony. It'd mean a lot to us."

"How would that look?" Carol frowned. She may have already secretly spent the night with him, but she did still have her public reputation to think of.

"Well...maybe Maggie and I want to go and you two chaperone us? Say you and her share a room and Dix and I do too—how about that?" Glenn said, thinking fast.

"We'd have to get her daddy to agree... but if you explained what we were trying to do... maybe..." Carol allowed. "Knowing what Daryl did—Hershel would want to see him get the medal."

"Will you talk to him? Please?" Glenn asked, hopeful.

"This isn't just because you have designs on Maggie?" Carol asked him, narrowing her eyes.

"Not _just."_ Glenn grinned back.

Carol shook her head at him and swatted at his arm. Hershel was no fool. He would know as well as she did that if Daryl and Glenn had their way, the initial rooming arrangements would go by the wayside pretty quickly. The question was, would he approve in spite of that possibility?

* * *

 _Thanks for reading! A bit more historical info for those interested:_

 **RFD** : Rural Free Delivery of the mail began in 1903.

"In his January 1945 State of the Union Address President Franklin D. Roosevelt remarked that there was a **critical shortage of Army nurses** and that medical units in the European theater were being strained to the breaking point."

" **Marriage policy,** however, was not as liberal or forgiving for women who served in the **Navy Nurse Corps.** Until nearly the end of the war, strict adherence to the no-marriage policy remained in effect for nurses. In fact, if a Navy nurse married, it was grounds for immediate discharge." Susan H. Godson, _Serving Proudly: A History of Women in the U.S. Navy_ (Annapolis, Md.: Naval Institute Press, 2001), 121-122, 142, 157.

 **Manzanar** is most widely known as the site of one of ten camps where over 110,000 Japanese Americans were incarcerated during World War II. Located approximately 230 miles northeast of Los Angeles. Some Germans and Italians were also relocated during the war, but the majority were Japanese (including Koreans).

On January 27, 1945, Russian soldiers entered the **Auschwitz concentration camp** and there found hundreds of sick and exhausted prisoners, the survivors of the Nazi attempt to exterminate the Jewish people and any other "undesirables," including homosexuals and the Romany (so-called Gypsy) people.

 **Medal of Honor:** "The process for awarding the medal — designed by Navy rules to leave "no margin of doubt or possibility of error" — involves reviews by commanders at every level of the nominee's chain of command and then by top Pentagon officials. The nominating papers — known as a "medal packet" — typically comprise dozens of sworn witness statements, maps, diagrams, a draft citation and a more detailed account of the nominee's deeds."


	5. Chapter 5

_Caryl and Gleggie meet up with some familiar faces in Washington. D.C._

 _Vocabulary Notes :_ _  
wet rag_ : some one who is just no fun  
 _classy chassis:_ hot women  
 _togged to the bricks:_ dressed up

* * *

"They're beautiful." Carol said, the rain of pink and white petals raining down all around them like fragrant confetti. The cherry blossoms were one of the reasons to visit DC in the spring, a reminder that relations between the United States and Japan had once been cordial enough for the gift of over 3000 of the beautiful trees. There had been some vandalism, including the worst incident when four of the trees had been chopped down after Pearl Harbor, but the rest endured, giving hope that one day reconciliation between the two foes might be possible.

Walking hand in hand along the tidal basin, Daryl and Carol watched as Glenn picked up a handful of the petals and showered them down onto Maggie's head, some getting caught in her hat and hair, others flowing down to her shoulders as she laughed delightedly. Both men wore their uniforms, their covers regulation low helping to hide Glenn's features as they walked the area near the Mall and capitol buildings.

They'd already had trouble when they'd showed up at the downtown hotel they'd called ahead to reserve. The desk clerk blanched when she saw him and had informed them that the place was full. Daryl asked to speak to the manager, holding his temper as he explained that they had a reservation. The man apologized but said there had been an error in the booking process and their rooms had been given away. Even the fact that both men were in uniform did nothing to move the man.

After trying three other nearby hotels and getting basically the same story, they ended up out in Alexandria, one of the DC suburbs, staying at a small hotel run by a retired Marine and his wife that Daryl found by calling their C.O. and asking for help.

Abraham and Holly's place was a big old Victorian house that they'd converted into what was basically a Bed and Breakfast like the ones he'd seen in England, where he'd been stationed. Each room was a suite complete with full bathroom, queen size bed and meals if you wanted them. For the same price as the two small rooms in the city had cost, they were in a comfortable home-like atmosphere. The main drawback was the distance from the city, but they had Hershel's sedan, and had planned to do some sightseeing along the Potomac anyhow, such as a day trip to Mt. Vernon.

Exactly how to go about deciding _who_ shared _which_ room had been a bit of a quandary...

One of the things they'd been warned about in their 'unofficial' pre-leave debriefing by the base Master Sergeant, (a grizzled veteran named Dale Horvath), was that transporting a woman to whom you weren't married across states lines for "immoral purposes" was actually against a _law_ known as the Mann Act enacted back in 1910. One choice was to sign in as husband and wife complete with some fake rings bought at the dime store. The problem with that was Glenn and Maggie just weren't _there_ yet. The attraction was real, but they hadn't fully acted on it. Neither Daryl nor Carol wanted the young people to feel pressured into doing something that they might regret, so the original plan proposed to Hershel was what they followed: Maggie would share a room with Carol and Glenn would bunk in with Daryl.

While they were taking their luggage up to the rooms, Glenn pulled Daryl aside and promised him they wouldn't have to be joined at the hip as couples. Sometimes he and Maggie might want to take in a sight that Carol wasn't interested in, so maybe she and Daryl could do something _alone_ together.

Since Daryl had basically lived at Carol's apartment for the duration of the weekend leave he'd had before they left on their road trip, he'd been feeling ill used by the sleeping arrangements, but had conceded that Maggie's comfort and sensibilities outweighed his libido. Going back to the base that early Monday morning had been one of the hardest things he'd ever had to do...

After their day in the country at the Greene farm, Maggie and Glenn had given Carol and Daryl a ride back to town. This time it was their turn to enjoy the alone time in the back seat of the big sedan, so by the time her apartment door shut behind them, Daryl had enough of the confining blue skirt acting as a lock box on where he wanted to be touching and tasting her and simply pulled it up and over her hips until it was bunched around her waist. His busy hands made quick work of her soaked panties as well, moaning against her neck as he sunk his fingers into her and then lifting her onto the closest horizontal surface, the living room love seat, and sinking to his knees before her...

"Penny for them?" Glenn's voice cut through the fog of remembrance Daryl had been pleasantly adrift inside. He looked over at his grinning friend, who was sprinkled with the same cherry blossoms he'd been using to tease Maggie a minute ago. The women were standing a few feet away, perusing the small guide book trying to decide where they wanted to go next, while Daryl stood next to Glenn, looking out over the calm waters of the tidal basin.

"Worth a _whole_ lot more than that..." Daryl smiled slowly at the kind of thoughts he'd been entertaining, stealing another glance at Carol. Today she had on another one of those deceptively prim suits that hugged her trim little figure like a glove, the jacket flaring out a bit from her waist to emphasize the curve of her hips down to that magnificent ass and shapely legs. All the important bits were covered, you could call the whole outfit _demure_ even, but he knew what was underneath all that cloth; skin so creamy and soft he wanted to bury his face in her breasts and never come up for air, suffocating to death that way would be a joy...

"Shit Dix—you look like you want to eat her for supper..."Glenn said quietly and then paused, his eyes going wide when Daryl grinned wolfishly. Glenn burst out laughing, drawing the women's eyes to him.

"What's the joke?" Maggie asked archly.

"Oh nothing—just talking about what's on the menu tonight." Glenn returned innocently.

"Holly gave us the address of a great rib joint she and Abe recommend." Carol said, "Run by a buddy of his. Maybe we should try that for supper?"

"Sounds great." Daryl said agreeably, heading towards the women in his long strided amble, followed by Glenn.

"And there's a tour of the White House I'd really love to do." Carol added, looking back at her guidebook, but then looked crestfallen. "But you have to make reservations at least a week in advance."

"Maybe there's some special deal for military types?" Glenn asked, still with that same innocent expression on his face, holding his hand out for the book. "You'd think we'd rate!"

Daryl started to frown, his eyes narrowing at them both.

" _Is that? No, it couldn't be!"_ a loud mocking voice pulled Daryl's head around and suddenly he was nearly tackled off his feet by two uniformed Marines.

" _Double D! You son of a bitch—you came!"_ the first Marine said, loud and happy, pounding Daryl on the back.

"Told you Glenn would get him here." The second more laconic deep southern voice said as if it was a foregone conclusion, punching Daryl in the shoulder.

Glenn joined the scrum, jumping up and tackle hugging the other men like an exuberant puppy, making even Daryl laugh. When they finally calmed down, the darker haired of the new arrivals finally noticed Carol and Maggie standing off to the side, bemused at the spectacle of four grown men acting like idiots.

"Well now...mmm _hmmm_!" the man said, putting his hands on his hips and eyeing them up and down, "Glenn said you found yourselves some belles down there in Atlanta, but he did not say how _tasty_ they were!"

"Watch it Shane," Glenn warned, but the other man ignored him, stalking forward.

"I mean, seriously Rick, look at 'em—what are two such classy chassis doing with the likes of you goons?" Shane continued, sidling closer to the women.

"Get bent, Walsh," Daryl growled, taking a slightly menacing step towards him.

"Cool it Shane." The other man, Rick, who had lighter brown hair and blue eyes, moved to get between Shane and Daryl.

Neither Maggie nor Carol seemed particularly impressed with the new arrivals.

"Just tryin' to rattle your cage, Dix." Shane said, looking back over his shoulder at Daryl and then back to the women, "Never seen you or the kid paired up before..." Holding his arms up as if he was waltzing, he did a little turn balanced on the balls of his feet, "Now which one of you lovelies has been forced to put up with ol' sour faced Double D's two left feet? You need a man who can trip the light fantastic, not a fumble footed wet rag."

Carol stared at him with one eyebrow raised and that little twist to her lips that Daryl had come to recognize as her patience being abused.

Maggie looked uncertainly between Shane and Carol, waiting for her to speak.

"You're kind of an ass, aren't you, dear?" Carol said sweetly.

Shane chuckled, holding both hands to his heart and staggering back as if she'd dealt him a mortal blow.

"Lance Corporal Shane Walsh, Sergeant Rick Grimes, meet Carol Pelletier." Daryl drawled, sounding pleased that she'd shut the Romeo of the Platoon down cold. He came up beside Shane, bumping him just hard enough with his shoulder so that it threw the other man off balance as he passed him by to go stand next to Carol.

Carol held out her hand to first Shane and then Rick, who took it in both of his and looked her over.

"I always wondered." The handsome Sergeant said, thoughtfully nodding and letting his head tilt to the side.

Carol tilted her head back it at him, mirroring his pose as a question.

" _When the right one would come along..."_ Rick said softly, leaning forward and kissing her on the cheek before squeezing and then releasing her hand.

Carol gave him a puzzled little smile and took a step closer to Daryl, who put his arm around her waist and stared back at Rick for a few beats before nodding in agreement.

"This is Maggie Greene." Glenn announced, breaking through the odd little moment with his own proud introduction.

"Ah, the Irish spitfire—we've heard about you, Missy!" Shane said appreciatively. "I do apologize for not being there to help you bail out PFC Rhee, but I was a bit preoccupied that evening with uh... _other_ matters."

" _Blonde_ matters as I understand it." Maggie said with asperity, her Georgia accent honey smooth and disdainful.

" _Spit_ fire! I like her too, little buddy." Shane said approvingly, slapping Glenn on the back good heartedly.

"You're out of uniform, Marine." Rick, the ranking man present said, looking more closely at Daryl's shoulder insignia. "You still haven't added the second stripe?"

"Got it in my bag, haven't had time to get it sewn on, Sarge." Daryl shrugged. The new patch and the fucking medal they were trying to give him made him feel like a fake, an imposter. So he'd carried his unconscious spotter to evac; so what? Simple rule: you never leave a man behind.

"Second stripe?" Maggie asked.

"Battlefield promotion—went up a whole rank to Corporal—he outranks _Shane_ now." Glenn smirked. As a Private First Class he had one stripe and was lowest ranked among his friends present; at Lance Corporal Shane came next.

"I can sew it on for you." Carol said quietly.

"Good—can't have him meeting the Commander in Chief with the wrong one." Rick said heartily.

"Told you—that ain't happening." Daryl said stubbornly.

"Daryl—it's an honor—Glenn told us what you did." Carol said gently. "You deserve it –"

"Didn't do anything he or Rick or Shane wouldn't a' done." Daryl interrupted.

"You're every bit as good as them—every bit." Carol said, looking up at him, blinking back tears. "And by accepting the medal, you're also honoring all of those from your platoon who didn't make it back, aren't you?"

Daryl hadn't really ever thought about it that way. In the months since, he'd tried not to think too hard about those sixteen other men who never came home; it was too hard. He'd see their faces when he tried to sleep, hear their voices raised in song or laughter, remember that Jim was a damn genius at keeping the jeeps running or how Axel had a tattoo of dice on his neck that he claimed made him lucky or how much of an asshole their C.O., Captain Blake had been right up until the end, when he'd tried to run, leaving the snipers and spotters on their own.

The radio operator Martinez warned them to get back to the rear position, that the Higgins boats were on their way for evac... He'd saved their lives. It had hurt like hell finding him among the dead, shot with a side arm, and Blake a little ways away, his holster empty, Marty's knife embedded in his throat...

The guilt would eat away at his soul when Daryl thought of the futures of those good men just... _gone._ Why did he deserve to be here when they weren't?

"She's right, Dix—do it for Jim, for Marty—for all of them." Glenn said, putting his hand on Daryl's shoulder.

"Except _Blake_." Rick said bitterly.

" _Fuckin' A."_ snorted Shane.

" _Fuckin' A."_ Daryl repeated more quietly.

" _Fuckin' A."_ Glenn bit out.

Maggie and Carol exchanged a concerned look and uncomfortable little smile at the fury in the men's voices at the mention of that one name. That must be a story for another time.

The four men seemed to shake it off, willing themselves back in the moment. Glenn took Maggie's hand when she offered it and Daryl leaned close to press a kiss to Carol's temple reassuringly.

"All right then—ceremony is on Thursday, so that gives us two days to get togged to the bricks and set this burg ablaze!" Shane said enthusiastically, "Whatta ya say ladies? You game?"

Maggie and Carol gave their respective men equal looks of dismay.

"Shane, maybe they've got plans." Rick, more sensitive to the mood, said quietly.

"We were going to look for a barbeque place we heard about." Glenn told the other two men. "And then maybe we were going to the pictures..." he looked over at Daryl for help. That had been the plan to give both couples some alone time—Daryl would make some excuse to bow out of the movie and head back to the B&B with Carol.

"Man, you get all coupled up and you're even more of a wet blanket than before!" Shane grouched, clearly itching to have a night out on the town.

"I already agreed to go to the fucking White House so shut your trap and come have dinner with us." Daryl said, "Then you can go raise whatever hell you want on your own."

Walsh grudgingly acknowledged Daryl's point with a grunt and then got a wicked gleam in his eye.

"Long as I get to sit between the dolls at dinner." He said with a slow grin.

"She has a knife and she knows how to use it." Daryl said laconically, dipping his head towards Carol. Then he pointed at Maggie, "And that one used a guy's balls to try out for the Rockettes."

Shane frowned, trying to tell if Daryl was being serious.

"Sings soprano now." Glenn added as he put his arm around Maggie's shoulders and started to walk away.

"A knife?" Shane murmured, falling in behind Daryl and Carol, Rick next to him.

"Little one, but sharp." Daryl warned him, "Keeps it in her purse."

Shane raised his head, peering around Daryl to look at the slender rectangle of a clutch Carol carried under her arm.

Carol's lips twitched with humor.

* * *

Following Abe and Holly's directions, the group hopped a bus to a northeastern section of the city's Fifth Ward and then boarded another to get to a neighborhood called Carver Langston. As they got on the second very full bus they came to the realization that _they_ were now in the minority. Every single face already on the bus was African American and many of them were staring curiously at the new arrivals. Most seemed to be on their way home from work, some tired and dozing in their seats, still dressed in the uniforms of waiters, doormen and maids, but there were also some white collar types with briefcases on their laps, looking up from reading a newspaper or book.

"Pardon me Marine, but are you lost?" the driver of the bus, also black, asked Rick as they boarded. His pleasant face was screwed up into a skeptical look, pushing his hat back on his head and raising his eyebrows even higher when he spotted Glenn.

* * *

AN:Thanks so much for reading & for the lovely reviews! It's great to hear people are enjoying the story & all of the period details.

Historical Notes:

"The plantings of cherry trees [in Washington D.C.] originated in 1912 as a gift of friendship to the People of the United States from the People of Japan. In Japan, the flowering cherry tree, or "Sakura," is an exalted flowering plant. The beauty of the cherry blossom is a potent symbol equated with the evanescence of human life and epitomizes the transformation of Japanese culture throughout the ages.

 **1941** : December 11, four cherry trees were cut down in suspected retaliation for the Japanese attack against the U.S. Pacific Fleet at Pearl Harbor, Hawaii. The exact reason for the vandalism never was substantiated. In hopes of preventing future damage during the Second World War, the trees were referred to as the "Oriental" flowering cherry trees." _Source:_ National Park Service

The **Mann Act** was signed into law by President Taft in 1910, the Act made it a crime to transport women across state lines "for the purpose of prostitution or debauchery, or for any other immoral purpose." It was that last clause "for any other immoral purpose" — that would prove the most problematic and give rise to concerns that the law enabled the government to legislate morality." Eric Weiner, "The Long Colorful History of the Mann Act." NPR Broadcast, March 11, 2008.

Originally built for trappers along the Gulf Coast, the barge-like **Higgins Boats** featured a special bow that enabled it to ascend up the beach for a dry landing. It became an icon of the WWII era and was used in the Normandy invasion as well as in the Pacific.


	6. Chapter 6

_Caryl and the gang continue on their quest for the best barbecue in Washington, D.C. with a little help from a fellow bus passenger._

 **Notes  
** **Anacostia:** the river bordering the 5th Ward neighborhoods of Washington, D.C.

 **"muddy":** a combination of sauce and rub on barbecue

* * *

"Pardon me Marine, but are you lost?" the driver of the bus, also black, asked Rick as they boarded. His pleasant face was screwed up into a skeptical look, pushing his hat back on his head and raising his eyebrows even higher when he spotted Glenn.

"Well sir," Rick said politely, "Just trying to get to a place called Five Brothers Barbecue—can you tell me if this bus will get us close?"

The bus driver and several of the passengers close to front broke into knowing laughter.

"May I _inquire_ if you all are friends of a fire haired _white boy_ by the _name_ of Abraham Ford?" A woman seated directly behind the driver asked sharply. She was dressed to the nines in an eggplant purple suit with a cunning little hat decorated with a peacock feather fan on the side. Her high cheekbones and imperious gaze made her look like a queen surveying unworthy subjects.

"Yes ma'am," Daryl told her, holding his hat in his hands as all the Marines did, removing it in deference to a lady. "Some of us are staying at his place of business."

"That boy..." the woman said and tsked loudly. "Well, he did not steer you wrong—the brothers have the best BBQ in the District, but I take it he didn't exactly explain the lay of the land..." She elbowed the young man next to her. "Marcus, now you stand and give your seat to one of these young ladies," and she leaned around him to speak to another skinny frowning man across the aisle "You too Albert."

"Now see here, Mizz Jacqui!" the man across the aisle protested, sitting up straighter.

" _No._ Don't you sass me Andrew Jenkins _"_ Miss Jacqui said, "These Marines have shed blood in the defense of our liberty—don't you see that purple ribbon on all their breasts? Least we can do is offer their girls a safe ride to where they're going."

Carol and Maggie were standing between Daryl and Glenn and exchanged a small smile before looking at the seated woman who had spoken. The two men vacated their seats as ordered and Daryl stepped aside so Carol could step past him. Instead of immediately sitting however, she extended her hand to Miss Jacqui.

"This is Corporal Daryl Dixon, Lance Corporal Shane Walsh, Sergeant Rick Grimes, PFC Glenn Rhee, Miss Maggie Green and I'm Carol Pelletier—very pleased to meet you." Carol said.

Before accepting the gesture she looked back at Glenn, her eyes narrowed suspiciously.

"He a Jap?"

"He's _Korean."_ Daryl said succinctly. "They hate the Japs even more than we do."

Miss Jacqui nodded sagely, motioning for Carol and Maggie to sit down and the driver to go. As the bus lurched forward the Marines took leaning positions in the aisle near the front hanging on to the chrome handholds above the seats.

"That's true enough. I got people down in Duluth know some Koreans—made good barbeque too—before they got shipped off that is..." Jacqui looked more closely at Glenn. "You volunteered from one a' them camps?"

"Yes ma'am—in California." Glenn told her. "Place called Manzanar."

"You still got people there?" she asked him and Glen nodded, "Bad business. Just like they done with the red man puttin' them on reservations." she shook her head sadly, "Course we got our own spaces here too, don't we? Your barbecue joint is smack in the middle of one of our spaces...but I'll see you get there."

"Thank you very much, ma'am." Glenn said, bowing his head deferentially. "We surely do appreciate it."

"My pleasure Marine. I thank you for your service." The woman returned, giving him a regal nod.

* * *

The restaurant was on the first floor of a three story brick building in the Hub, the main business district of the area on Benning Road, where the bus dropped them off. Mizz Jacqui announced that she would accompany them all the way to the place so she could have a word with the managing partner, with whom she said she was well acquainted.

It became increasingly apparent that their guide was someone of importance in the community, for despite the odd and openly curious looks the group was getting as they made their way across the broad street, everyone politely acknowledged first her and then the group as a whole, men tipping their hats and woman nodding.

"Have you lived here your whole life?" Carol asked, seeing something similar to the deference Hershel was granted in the Atlanta neighborhood where his church was located.

"My people have been here since Mr. Lincoln." Jacqui told her, "My husband's came right after the Great War. The _first_ one," she amended. Then she stopped and looked up at the sign painted on the window of a storefront, and then at the line of people standing and waiting to enter at the door.

"Five Brothers!" Maggie said sounding relieved that their odyssey had reached its goal, pointing at the window. The colorful sign had the outline of five pigs of varying sizes, each with a big number "5" branded onto its loin.

She'd drawn the attention of the tall one handed man at the door who seemed to be the one deciding who got to enter. Attached at his right wrist was an artificial hand, made more conspicuous by the fact that the flesh tone of it was Caucasian, not black.

"You're late!" the man said with a sour look, "He's goin' after Bob again—with the _hammer_."

"I had a longer wait at the bank than I expected and Abraham sent us some special guests—just making sure they found the place." Jacqui replied evenly, showing no sign she was disturbed by the news that someone was being attacked with a _hammer._

" _You hear what I said woman?"_ the man asked, his voice rising, pushing the hungry crowd in front of him back bodily so Jacqui and the Marine group could enter.

"What'd he do now?" Jacqui asked with a disgusted sigh.

"Ty thinks there's somethin' up with him and Sash—says Bob forgot to check the second smoker. T thinks he can salvage it for burnt ends, but Ty is fit to be...well, _tied!_ " Oscar explained.

"If y'all be patient, I promise you won't be disappointed, ah right?" Jacqui said to the assembled crowd. There were a few murmurs of displeasure, but mostly nods of agreement. Whatever they served inside was obviously worth waiting for.

"Show these Marines and their ladies to a table while I see to it, will you sugar?" Jacqui said, patting Oscar on the shoulder as she walked by. _"Big Tiny!"_ she yelled as she passed through the entrance, "You get on out there and watch the door for your brother, sweetheart!"

"The Queen has returned." Oscar gave a big sigh of relief as he turned to Daryl and the rest. "If you all will follow me, I'll get you set up inside."

"We don't want to budge the line." Daryl said, acutely aware that there were at least twenty people standing there already waiting.

"You're special guests of the owner's wife—everybody heard Mizz Jacqui—'sides they're here for takeout, not sit down." He said, using his left hand to point at the now shuttered opening in the wall to his right with a small awning over top of it and a sign announcing it as the Takeout Window and that it wasn't open until seven p.m. It was now only five-thirty.

A petite serious looking young African American woman, her hair pulled back into a tight bun at her neck, wearing an apron over her navy blue dress and wiping her hands off on a white bar cloth came to the door that Jacqui had just passed through.

"Tiny's helping out in the pits—you stay on the door and I'll help these folks." the young woman announced to Oscar. Then she looked at the group Jacqui had arrived with. "If you'll all follow me?"

"I guess we're a bit early..." Carol said apologetically as they went through the door. "Abe and Holly didn't tell us—"

"Abraham forgets not everyone will drive on over the Anacostia just for barbecue." Sasha said with a wry smile. "You really took the bus?"

"Seemed like the easiest way to get here." Rick shrugged.

"And you had no idea what part of town it was in?" Sasha asked, raising an eyebrow,

"Why? Something different about the neighborhood?" Glenn asked, tongue in cheek.

"You're not from around here, are you?" Sasha chuckled. She led them to a circular table with booth seating set on a platform a couple of steps up off the main floor. Plucking the reserved sign off the table she motioned for them to sit down.

"Was this reserved?" Carol asked, like Daryl still worried that they were barging in where they weren't welcome.

"For friends of the family." Sasha nodded with a smile, "Can I get you anything from the bar?"

They got two pitchers of a local draft, chatting a bit more with Sasha after she delivered it and then while they helped her prepare the rest of the tables for opening time. Glenn and Maggie refilled the salt and pepper shakers, while Carol and Daryl rolled silverware up inside napkins. Rick and Shane took the chairs down off the tables where they'd been stacked the night before so the floor could be swept and scrubbed and then helped Sasha put table cloths on every one.

As they worked Sasha told them the place was owned and jointly run by four honest to goodness brothers and that she was their little sister, married to Bob, the assistant cook , so the fifth brother was technically a brother-in-law. Mizz Jacqui was married to the oldest, Tyreese, who was the business manager; next was T-Dog, the barbecue chef; then Oscar, the doorman; and last, the baby, Big Tiny, (though at almost three hundred pounds certainly not the smallest), who was still in high school.

Oscar had met Abe when their units were temporarily integrated at the Battle of the Bulge back in December. Thrown together they had discovered that they were both from the D.C. area, which gave them more in common than they had with most of the other men in either of their squads and they formed a firm friendship. Badly wounded, they ended up on the same troop transport ship home, and were discharged in the same month.

T-Dog had been a cook in the Army and Tyreese a mechanic. The only one who had seen actual combat had been Oscar. When the three older brothers had all made it back safely from the war they'd decided to start up this place, in what had been Jacqui's parents' diner. Open only since January, they were already getting a reputation in the D.C. area as the best BBQ around.

Bob had been a medic for the 99th Pursuit Squadron of the U.S. Army Air Corps, serving in North Africa for two years, but had been less than honorably discharged when his drinking accidentally caused the death of an injured man he was treating.

He had met Sasha when he moved into one of the "project" apartment buildings in Langston Terrace. Jacqui, Sasha and Big Tiny lived there in one of the row houses while the other three brothers were off fighting in Europe. Bob started showing up at the diner, hat in hand, asking to do any odd jobs they had for him.

Bob seemed to find purpose in helping the family and fell for the independent only daughter of the Williams clan, marrying when Tyreese returned and gave his blessing. He now worked in the kitchen under T-Dog, but the arrangement wasn't really a good fit. What he really wanted to do was go back to school and study medicine, as did Sasha, who had just started nursing school right before the war began, but had to quit to go to work at the diner to help support the family.

When Sasha found out both Carol and Maggie were nurses she had all sorts of questions for them. By the time Tyreese and Jacqui came out from the kitchen and found the rest of tables all set up and ready and Sasha sitting with the Marines, they wondered if they had just unknowingly hired six new employees or _lost_ one.

"Don't need to get up." Tyreese said as the Marines started to rise, "Got dry rubbed, sauced, or muddy." He was carrying a big family style platter of ribs, pulled pork, brisket and burnt ends which he set down in the center of the table on the built in turn table.

"This is my husband, Tyreese Williams." Jacqui said, bringing a tray with plates and dishes of fresh baked rolls, corn bread, coleslaw, fried pickles, fried baby okra, and thick cut fried potatoes, unloading it onto the turn table as well so everyone could help themselves.

Daryl, seated closest to Ty, held out his hand to the owner and they shook.

"Pleased to meet you, Tyreese." Daryl said warmly, "Abe told us we were in for a treat and I see and smell he's right!" then he turned to the rest of the group for introductions, saving Carol for last.

"And this pretty one with the kind eyes must be your girl." Tyreese smiled down at Carol, who blushed and extended her hand to him with a shy smile.

"Carol." Daryl said, grinning and nodding in agreement.

"Eat up now—the whole pack of you all are too skinny." Tyreese said, releasing Carol's hand and motioning for them to start.

"Gonna have us bustin' the buttons on our uniforms!" Shane exclaimed, forking a slab of ribs onto his plate gleefully.

"I have died and gone to _heaven_..." Glenn said after he took a bite of the brisket and a look of bliss broke over his face.

Tyreese chuckled and the rest all filled their plates as well, commenting on each dish's deliciousness as they went.

"When you get done feedin' the _white folk and Japs_ , there's a whole passle of your _regular_ customers waitin' out here." a nasty voice snarked from the open doorway.

The group looked up as saw the same skinny little man as had been on the bus earlier trying to look at them around Oscar's side.

"You keep quiet, Andrew Jenkins!" Jacqui called out, bustling over to the door. "I'm tired of you sassin' me. We reserve the right to serve whoever we want and today that ain't _you_ , so _git!_ "

Andrew's face took on a look of outrage and then panic, realizing he was going to be denied the very food the people inside were enjoying, the very ones that so infuriated him with their presence.

Oscar, hearing the order, bodily lifted the little man by the collar of his shirt one-handed and carried him across the broad avenue, depositing him on the sidewalk on the other side of it. He stood there looking down at Andrew with a narrow eyed expression until the mouthy offender harrumphed and scurried away.

"Anyone else got a problem?" Jacqui asked the crowd gawking as Oscar returned to his post at the restaurant door.

No one said a word.

"All right then," Jacqui nodded, "Take out will be open in ten minutes."

The queue reformed with a few murmurs and side long gazes.

"I _gotta_ find me a woman like that." Shane stared at Jacqui with rapt admiration, barbecue sauce dribbling down his chin from the rib he still held in his hands.

"You couldn't _handle_ a woman like that." Rick snorted, throwing a napkin at Shane and motioning to the other man to wipe his face.

" _Amen, brother,"_ Tyreese rumbled, jumping a little when his wife goosed him on the ass as she walked by on her way back to the kitchen, and then followed close behind the love of his life back to work.

Daryl stared at Carol who was enjoying herself immensely, watching the byplay among his friends. Like Shane she had been sampling the ribs and had the muddy spiced sauce in the corners of her mouth out onto to her cheeks, making her look a bit like she'd just taken a bloody bite out of someone.

"Got some sauce..." Daryl said, staring at her mouth and Carol lifted her napkin to wipe it away, but he stayed it, taking hold of her wrist and instead leaning forward and carefully licking it off before kissing her lingeringly. He continued even when someone let out a piercing whistle.

"Just like you _said_ , little buddy: dinner _and_ a show!" Shane cackled to Glenn, punching him in the arm happily.

* * *

 _Thanks so much for reading-I enjoy reading the comments in the reviews, glad you're liking all the historical details!_

Notes:

 **Andrew** Jenkins in the West Georgia Correctional prisoner responsible for Lori  & T-Dog's death in S3.

 **Duluth, Georgia** is affectionately dubbed the Seoul of the South for its high Korean population.

 **The Great Migration** was a movement of more than one million African Americans out of the rural southern United States from 1914-40. Most African Americans who participated in the migration moved to large industrial cities such as NYC, Chicago, Philadelphia, Pittsburgh, Washington D.C. Baltimore, Minneapolis, Seattle, Detroit, Boston, Milwaukee, St. Louis, Oakland, LA and Long Beach as well as to many smaller industrial cities. Hence the Migration played an important role in the formation and expansion of African-American neighborhoods in these cities.  Source: wiki on African American neighborhoods

Carver is named after George Washington Carver, a famous black inventor. Langston Terrace is named after John Mercer Langston who served as the first black American from Virginia to serve in the United States Congress. **Langston Terrace** is famous because it is Washington D.C.'s city's first federally funded public housing program to be built in 1938. The housing projects were explicitly designed for African American residents, since the District was rigidly segregated at the time.

"As the U.S. government called for volunteers to the Army and defense industries at the onset of World War II, thousands of African Americans came forward, but were not given the opportunity to serve in the same manner as white soldiers.

"...in 1941 the War Department formed the **all-black 99th Pursuit Squadron of the U.S. Army Air Corps** (later the Air Force) to train a small group of pilots. They trained at Tuskegee, Alabama, and became known as the **Tuskegee Airmen**. The group flew important supply and service missions in North Africa and Europe beginning in 1943.

Black soldiers were generally restricted from combat, but the realities of war would soon blur the lines of race. One major breakthrough came during the **Battle of the Bulge** , in late 1944...

General Dwight D. Eisenhower, faced with Hitler's advancing army on the Western Front, temporarily desegregated the army, calling for urgent assistance on the front lines. More than 2,000 black soldiers volunteered to fight.

African-American women also fought to serve in the war effort as nurses. Despite early protests that black nurses treating white soldiers would not be appropriate, the War Department relented, and the first group of **African-American nurses** in the Army Nurse Corps arrived in England in 1944."  Source: National Geographic


	7. Chapter 7

_Daryl and Carol's friends work to give them some time alone to talk…yeah, right, who am I kidding, plenty of sweet smut herein (but they really_ _do_ _talk too…I promise.)_

 _Notes_ _:_ _phosphate:_ a type of citrus tasting additive used in sodas in the 1940s and earlier; it lasted better than real citrus juice and has a distinctive taste.

* * *

"You sure Dix doesn't want dealt in?" Abe asked, shuffling expertly, his cigar set at a jaunty angle protruding from the side of his mouth.

"I can go ask..." Rick volunteered, but with a smirk, knowing very well that Daryl did not want to be disturbed.

"Shut it—you know he's a shark..." Shane grumbled..."

"Is it card sharp or card shark?" Glenn mused.

"Either one, he's it." Shane said, biting the end off of his cigar and using it to gesture towards the stairs to the bedrooms above them. He spit the tobacco remnant into the ashtray and reached for the big novelty lighter Abe had provided for the table. He leaned close to and then pressed down on the tail of the seated bronze dragon and a flame shot out of its open mouth, high enough to light the long Havana he was now puffing.

"It's the quiet ones that are always the most dangerous." Abe nodded sagely, starting to deal out the cards.

"We playin' or chattin'?" Oscar asked, pursing his lips at the others. Instead of the artificial hand he usually wore, tonight he had on a contraption that Abraham had made for him to hold his cards. It was basically a fold out fan with the addition of spring loaded clothespins. This allowed him to place the cards with his remaining hand and fan them out just like holding them, but clipped in so he wouldn't drop them.

"Snacks?" Holly asked, plump and rosy cheeked with large green eyes, her blonde hair was cut quite short in a page boy style. She came in carrying a tray piled high with big German style soft pretzels, crusty with salt, a glass mustard jar beside it. Maggie followed with a pitcher of beer and four steins.

"Manna from heaven!" Abe crowed, snagging a pretzel as his wife walked by, "Makes these herself." he added proudly. Holly's German ancestry wasn't something they advertised, but she made all the traditional dishes like strudel. They were delicious and popular items on the lunch and dinner menus for the B&B guests.

Holly smiled and set the tray down on the table and Maggie did the same.

"You sure you're okay with this?" Glenn asked Maggie, looking concerned. "I can still go with—we can get Daryl to—"

"Don't you dare!" Maggie said quickly. She and Holly had worked hard to get Daryl and Carol some alone time tonight, talking the men into a poker night and trading the next door neighbors enough ration coupons to get the baking soda needed for the pretzels. That was the trick to get them that lovely brown crust, dip them in a diluted but concentrated bath of the caustic stuff before baking.

"We're just going to the pictures and a phosphate—girl's night out." Holly told them. She moved to the French doors and opened them to the garden to let the spring breezes carry away at least some of the stale cigar smoke, but the couple upstairs must have had their garden side windows open as well because it was immediately apparent that Daryl would not be joining the poker table any time soon.

They all sat and listened for a minute or two to the sounds of a woman showing her _very_ vocal appreciation for being thoroughly and quite masterfully made love to.

No one said a word, but even while deeply focusing on contemplating the hands they'd just been dealt, the men's lips turned up into smirks. Glenn looked up at Maggie and they both blushed and smiled shyly before looking away.

Holly pulled the doors closed with a soft click.

"We'll just be on our way then." Mrs. Ford said briskly, smiling over at Maggie and making her way to give her husband a quick goodbye kiss on the cheek. She also gave one to Oscar just as Maggie kissed Glenn, making Shane whine.

" _Hey!_ Don't I get no sugar?" Shane asked, taking the cigar from his mouth and puckering up.

Rick leaned over and went in for a mocking kiss, but Shane fought him off, almost upsetting the pitcher of beer when they bumped against the table. Maggie and Holly rolled their eyes and fled the room.

" _Gentlemen!"_ Abraham admonished with a roar, "Are we playin' _poker_ or just _playin'_?"

That settled the Marines down and they retook their seats and their cards and cigars. Every now and then their eyes would drift towards the ceiling when muted cries and groans rose to audible levels and one or another of them would quietly mutter: _"Lucky bastard."_ before returning to the game.

* * *

" _What?"_ Carol sighed hoarsely, waiting for the feeling of bonelessness to pass so she could move. She could barely lift her head to look at him, but she felt his eyes on her—his loud silent stare was making her start to tingle...again...

They were lying side by side, facing each other, not touching. She'd rolled away from him after he'd used his mouth to bring her to an earth shattering climax that had made her scream, and she was now a bit embarrassed to be so totally wanton when she knew that they weren't alone in the house. He'd crawled his way up next to her and now gazed down at her intently.

"Just like lookin' at you." Daryl murmured in his gravel soft voice, running the tip of his index finger down the line of her profile silhouette, starting at her shoulder, through the curves and dips, over her arm which lay against her hip, and then picking up its swelling rise until, palming one cheek of rounded derriere, he reeled her in.

" _Daryl..."_ she protested weakly, but let him continue to move her closer until they were belly to belly, his hot thickness trapped between them making her breath hitch and catch.

Daryl found her hand and held it, looking into her eyes, hesitating before he spoke.

"Want you to touch me...need it...feel your hands on me...that okay?" he sounded shy, worried he was asking for too much from her.

Carol nodded at him. She'd wanted to; to explore his taut muscled flesh, the velvet length of him, but hadn't known how to ask it. She'd let him lead, be the dominant one in bed so far, and it had been thrilling, knowing , seeing, _feeling_ how much he wanted her, the ways he showed her with every touch how desirable she was to him...but she wanted to do the same for him.

She hadn't known sex could be like this, more than just submission to another's will. Her marriage bed had been first painful and then humiliating in equal measure. That was what she had been told by her mother to expect and endure, so she did. The idea of touching her husband with anything like this sort of intimacy had been unthinkable.

With Daryl she held on for dear life—gripping his shoulders as he drove into her, wondering at the ropy scars there and on his back; letting her fingers enjoy the softness of his hair brushing against her belly when he devoured her, feeling the whisker burn on her inner thighs and breasts...

But touching him _... there?_

Daryl drew her hand down across rippled abdominals, following his center line until she felt the rigid heat of him against her palm and he sucked in a breath as he gently closed his fingers around hers so that she was gripping the shaft firmly.

"Show me how?" Carol asked him, "What you like?"

Panting, his eyes narrowed into slits, pupils dark, he nodded. Leaning in he kissed her then, sucking her tongue into his mouth, asking for her to be the one to control and deepen the kiss as his hand guided hers, rising and falling in a steady slow rhythm, teasing himself.

Carol kissed him back hard, sinking her teeth into his lower lip and Daryl whined, surging his hips up, fucking into her hand for a few thrusts until he got control of himself again. He fumbled around until he found her other hand, dragging it down to cup his balls, groaning at how gently she held them. He needed more _now_ and quickened the stroke.

" _Yes?"_ she rasped, her hand outpacing his, thumb brushing and sliding over the ridge to the head with each pass, wrist twisting slightly, the pressure exquisite pain as his release grew closer.

In response he grunted and let go with both hands, leaving it up to her to finish him as she saw fit.

Carol felt the tension building, how he couldn't help the rutting of his cock into her hands, the muscles of his ass bunching; how everything in him seemed to tighten, rigid and about to ignite. She smiled, feeling the power, liking it. She watched as his head fell back, the corded muscles of his neck going tight, the pulse there beating out of control and then he gripped the sheets and his breath went out of him all at once. He made a low racked sound of pleasure and she felt the first hot slippery spurt onto her belly and chest.

" _Don't stop..."_ he begged when she slowed, thinking it was over, so she resumed and he made a higher pitched whimpering moan, continuing to come, burying his face in her neck, his open mouth gasping, _"God, Carol..."_

Daryl wrapped his arms around her, resting his forehead against her jaw, breathing hard.

"Was that—" she started to ask, and he lifted his head and kissed her, using his mouth to show her how good it had been.

"Sorry—kinda messy—wait a minute... don't move..." Daryl said as he eased away from her, sliding off the bed, his legs unsteady for the first couple of steps, making her giggle.

" _Stahp!"_ he admonished her over his shoulder, so she bit her lip and made do with enjoying the sight of his pale little perfect butt and muscled back beneath those broad shoulders. He'd called her beautiful, but if the word could be ascribed to a man, he was it, all smooth lines and rough edges, the scars and ink decorating his body making it all the more so to her.

Carol rubbed the fingers of her right hand against her thumb, feeling the slippery warm essence that also lay on her body. She looked up making sure he was still in the other room and raised her index finger to her lips, tasting it like you would a sugar icing glaze before putting it on a cake.

She'd expected it to be bitter, but it wasn't—just slightly salty and thick on her tongue. She'd read a lurid dime novel or two smuggled in to the nursing school dorms and knew that some women used more than their hands to do what she'd just done for him, but had never even considered such a thing with her husband. With him sex had been almost clinical, for procreation only, and her inability to give him more children after Sophia had ended that part of their marriage several years ago.

Daryl's intent adoration of her body, free expression of his desires and appreciative reactions to her tentative touches gave her such wicked ideas... She sucked down on her finger, closing her eyes and imagining it was his longer thicker length, wondering if she could ever really be bold enough to try it.

As he started back into the bedroom carrying a warm washcloth and towel, Daryl paused to look at her, feeling an overwhelming wave of possessiveness rock him back; she was calmly waiting for him to come back, still sticky from his shooting all over her like some damn dog marking its territory and – _oh shit_ —did she just? He watched as she sucked her finger in, all the way down to the knuckle, his cock springing back to life like he was a damn kid.

He watched as her cheeks hollowed out and she gave a little involuntary moan as she let her finger slide back out. Sighing, Daryl pushed the door open all the way and willed his over eager anatomy to calm the fuck down, holding the towel at waist level so it hung down a bit lower.

Carol's head came up and she blushed, starting at her chest and rising to her neck, turning the pale freckled skin strawberry red.

Daryl didn't draw attention to it, he just came to the bed, which dipped lower with his weight as he settled in and gently started to clean her, starting with her hands. She tried to take the cloth from him to wipe her body, but he refused to release it, shaking his head at her.

" _Let me."_ He half asked, half ordered. His careful touch moved over her belly and then to her breasts, the cooling cloth and air from the open window plumping the nipples tight. When he rubbed the soft terry cotton towel over them she whimpered, making him toss aside the towel and make a sound like a starved man settling in for a banquet at a Queen's table, his mouth covering the center of the right as his hands cupped both breasts.

Carol held his head to her as the force of his weight over her pressed her into the mattress. She felt him angle his body so he was poised more directly over her, suckling noisily with little wet pleasure sounds and moans, his abs pressing into her hips, his erection pushing against her thigh as she widened her legs to accommodate him.

Daryl started to kiss his way over to her other breast, pausing in the middle of her heaving chest to look up at her. The look of pure liquid adoring anticipation in her pupil dark eyes had him raise himself up on his powerful arms so he could drag his hips up, notching the tip of his cock against her nest of hot wet curls.

Carol's legs came up and locked around him, her hands now at his nape as they stared into each other's eyes. He felt her raise her hips, rubbing her heat against him, opening to him, silently begging to be filled and couldn't resist her siren song. His hipbones bumped down to hers and he groaned, sinking deeper, her pussy clutching at the head of his dick, sheathing it so tightly he whined and dropped his head to hers, forehead to forehead.

" _Need to stop..."_ Daryl cautioned, wanting to do anything but say it; she felt so good around him all he wanted to do was lose himself inside her, thrust home until they both lost their minds with the perfection of it. This was a dangerous game. He didn't want to trap her.

That thought forced him back, rolling to the side to find the new tin he'd made sure to bring, one of three he'd bought off other guys back at the base in anticipation of this trip. Quickly donning the protection he returned to her, kissing her soothingly as she clutched at him, needing him to finish what he'd started.

The fact that they'd both already achieved satisfaction once tonight should've made this time less urgent: slow and easy, but it was the exact opposite. She ran her hands all over his arms and chest, telling him to hurry. In one liquid pulse he was inside her and she cried out his name, urging him on.

Daryl turned the tables on her, rolling until she was astride, his hands holding almost bruisingly tight on her hips then ass, showing her how he wanted her to move.

" _Ride..."_ he demanded, " _Wanna see you ride_ _me_."

While she perfected the rhythm, he released his grip on her and brought his arms back to his sides so he could prop himself up on his elbows and look down at her; at the totally erotic sight of his thick veined shaft appearing and reappearing as she rose and fell; at the bounce of her perfect tits; at the mass of mussed up sweat soaked red curls falling all around her face and neck; at her smiling eyes.

She rode him.

She rode him hard.

And put him away _, very_ wet.

* * *

Neither of them were able to sleep, so they did the other thing that also came easily for them: they _talked_. He told her the plot of films he'd seen and she of books she'd read and loved—Jane Austen's _Persuasion_ had taken her a whole hour to recount because he kept stopping her and asking questions, trying to understand the motives of eighteenth century society.

He'd finished high school, but had always found reading difficult—the words went all jumbled on the page—his momma and then Mizz Deanna or one of the girls back at the house would read to him to help him with his homework, probably the only way he graduated with half decent grades.

"Merle was all I had left." Daryl told her, "Never knew my father's folks and my momma was an only child with older parents. Mizz Deanna's house closed—all the girls got jobs in factories or went to work someplace closer to the military bases after she passed. Her boys are both in the Army. Nothin' left for me back there."

"You said we get to start over...did you?" Carol asked him, wondering if losing his brother, his last remnant of family, had given him this desire to reinvent himself or if he'd felt the same push towards self-annihilation as she'd felt after losing her daughter.

"I'm tryin'." Daryl paused, staring at her, sensing her unease; she was holding back.

Carol looked away, unnerved by his penetrating gaze; she felt like he could see right through her.

"Why don't you say what's really on your mind?" Daryl asked.

"I don't think we get to save anyone anymore." Carol said tonelessly.

"Then why are you goin'? Why volunteer to go into that hell?" Daryl asked roughly, growing upset with her, feeling her somehow slipping away from him again.

"You know why." Carol said, because he did. He'd run back into enemy fire with no regard for his own life, ready to die...

"Reason I said we get to start over is coz we gotta. _Fuck_ the way it was. Start over—with _me_. _Stay with me."_ Daryl's eyes bored into hers with a look of love so fierce that it made her mouth go dry and fingers go numb.

" _Daryl..."_ Carol whispered, her eyes brimming.

" _Marry me, Carol."_

* * *

 _Thanks for reading! It's been a busy week, but I had some time to finish this chapter today so I hope you enjoyed;-)_

Notes: Jane Austen's _Persuasion_ is my favorite of her works. Watch the great 1995 film version not the 2007 one.

Friedrich, Paula. "For a proper Pretzel Crust, Count on Chemistry and Memories." NPR, 9 Aug. 2014.


	8. Chapter 8

_At Daryl's Medal of Honor ceremony, Carol meets other guests who help her come to an important decision._

* * *

"Corporal Daryl Dixon, for conspicuous gallantry and intrepidity at the risk of life above and beyond the call of duty; for your valor in the face of enemy fire, for your willingness to lay down your very life in defense of your fellow Marines, I am proud to award you with our nation's highest honor."

"During an enemy armored attack on their position in Okinawa, Corporal Dixon, a sniper squad member, assumed command of his squad when the squad leader and sergeant were wounded in action."

"Under fire and while also sustaining life threatening wounds himself, he courageously crawled between gun positions to rescue the three remaining survivors of his squad, learning when they returned to the trenched location that they were the only survivors of their entire platoon. With the medical aid man a casualty, Corporal Dixon personally administered first aid to his wounded men."

"When the advancing enemy attempted to penetrate their position, Corporal Dixon, completely disregarding intense enemy action, mounted a Japanese tank and discharged a grenade into its turret. The destruction of this vehicle blocked all movement of the remaining enemy column, consisting of over 100 vehicles."

"The blocked vehicles were then kept at bay by his manning of Howitzer artillery fire, protecting the rescue boats landing to evacuate his wounded men. The dynamic leadership, the inspiring example and the dauntless courage of Corporal Dixon, above and beyond the call of duty, are in keeping with the highest traditions of the military service."

Carol heard the President speak those words to Daryl, so proud of him and awed to be here in the White House East Room sitting with the families of the other men being honored today. She sat between Rick and Glenn, who along with Shane made up the four guests Daryl had been allowed to invite.

On Glenn's other side sat a small Japanese-American woman, whose son, PFC Sadao S. Munemori, a member of the 442nd Infantry Regiment had been given the Medal of Honor posthumously. She spoke little English, which the organizers hadn't known and Glenn had graciously stepped in to serve as her translator. He was giving her a word for word account of Daryl's heroism as recounted by the President and she sat smiling and nodding through her tears.

Her son had served in Italy, taking command of his squad just as Daryl had done when his C.O. was wounded; but after single-handedly taking out two machine gun nests, Sadao had saved the two other men in his foxhole by jumping onto a live grenade that the Germans had tossed into it, but he had not survived. As every story of heroism was told for the men being honored here today, Carol's resolve to follow through on her pledge to the Navy grew.

When Daryl had so surprised her the night before last with his proposal she'd protested that they hadn't even known each other a month, asking how he could be so sure of his feelings for her? All the while knowing she was already in love with him.

He told her that he knew he'd survived everything that had happened to him in his life for a reason and he'd come to believe that reason was to find _her_.

To hear that he loved her and wanted to share his life with her had meant everything to Carol, but her deeply ingrained sense of honor and duty made her unwilling to just abandon her commitment to serve. She'd asked him for more time, telling him that a decision that would change the rest of their lives deserved that.

Daryl had shut down on her then; she could tell he was hurt that she hadn't immediately accepted, but was too much of a gentleman to try and force her to see things his way. He'd dressed and left her alone in the room she shared with Maggie, who had found her crying into her pillow when she'd returned from the picture show with Holly.

The other woman had come upstairs with her, like Maggie worried when Daryl had been downstairs, smoking a cigar, leaning back in his chair with a scowl, the towering pile of chips in front of him at the card table and the uneasy looks on the other men's faces testimony to his dark mood.

* * *

They'd spent the next day with Maggie and Glenn, wandering through the Freer Gallery museum on the Mall in the morning, both of them unusually quiet, the only light moment when he'd halted in front of one of the new "modern" painter's works, a non-representational color field of curved stripes on a white background.

"What?" Carol asked, stopping to stand beside him.

"Bet some rich prick paid a lot of money for this. Looks like a dog sat in paint and wiped its ass all over the place." Daryl said, raising his hand to point with a sweeping gesture, following the curve of the most colorful line.

"Really? I kinda like it." Carol said, tilting her head to the side.

Daryl looked at her askance, but Carol kept admiring the painting, straight faced. He turned to her, making a noise of derision.

" _Stop."_

"I'm serious." Carol said, "You don't know me." and then she turned away, an impish but wry grin on her face as she strolled on to the next painting. They both knew that he knew her inside and out; he knew her better than anyone ever had, even though they'd only found each other a short while ago.

"Yep, you keep tellin' yourself that." Daryl said in his gravel soft voice, following her.

* * *

Carol looked at him standing at attention next to the President, who was seated, still recovering from a recent illness, but wanting to be present for this important ceremony. Daryl was so handsome in his dress uniform with the saber at his side, his white gloves pristine, just like the ones she'd worn today. Only the blush of red at his neck betrayed how uncomfortable he was to be on such public display. His face was stoic as he listened to his deeds in the Pacific being recounted, but he winced slightly when the President said that the rest of the Platoon had been killed.

 _How horrible for all of them_ , Carol thought, and took Glenn and Rick's hands in hers, looking at each of them and Shane in turn with great empathy for their losses. They all nodded back and then everyone looked back to Daryl, who met Carol's eyes, the side of his mouth rising in that tiny half smile he seemed to save for her.

Carol gave him a small heart felt smile back and her chest ached, wondering how she could ever leave him...

Maggie, Abe, Holly and the Williams family were waiting for them all at the restaurant for a celebration after the formal ceremony and small reception, but Daryl had to have his picture taken with the other awardees, the President and various members of the Senate and Congressional districts of Georgia. The photographer also wanted a picture of each man with his guests.

Carol watched as Daryl posed with his friends, the men he had saved and who stood with him today. She sensed someone beside her and turned to see Mrs. Munemori, waiting to have her photo taken. She held a framed photograph of her son in his uniform and the case with his medal tightly in her right hand.

" _Ohayō gozaimasu_ , Mrs. Munemori." Carol said respectfully, placing her hands at her side and bowing at the waist. She had seen Glenn offer the greeting earlier and had asked him to explain it to her. She hoped she was pronouncing it at least close enough that she wasn't insulting the woman.

The woman raised her delicate sable eyebrows slightly, but returned the gesture, bowing deeply.

"Friend Korean boy, Jin?" she said, looking over at Glenn.

"Yes—I'm Carol Pelletier." Carol nodded.

"Good boy..." she looked at the four men lined up in front of the photographer and then held out her left hand to Carol, who hoped that meant she wanted to shake hands and took it with her left. Instead of shaking it however the woman turned Carol's until the knuckles were up.

"No husband." she pronounced flatly when she saw no ring and then narrowed her eyes, looking at the four men again.

Carol stared down at her, a little taken aback.

Mrs. Munemori released Carol's hand and took the medal case in her left hand so she could show Carol the photograph. The handsome round face of a broad shouldered young man in his Army dress uniform standing in front of an American flag looked back at her.

" _Time."_ she said, tapping on the glass of the photo with the medal case while looking into Carol's eyes. She let the case rest there on the photo's surface and then her small hand elegantly rose in imitation of a bird's wing in flight, gesturing up as she finished what she wanted to say, _"Gone."_

Carol stood with her mouth open, unsure of how to respond. Finally she nodded, trying to show she understood the sentiment of the fleeting nature of time, of chances lost, of the constant specter of death hanging over them all.

The men joined them then and after introductions, Daryl, holding his hat in his hands, quietly asked Carol if she would take a picture with him as well. He looked unsure, very much like he had when he'd asked her to dance that first night at the canteen.

Mrs. Munemori's eyes found Carol's and her lips curved into a knowing smile.

Carol smiled back and then turned an even bigger smile on Daryl, putting her hand on his forearm.

"I'd be honored."

Daryl sighed happily in relief and put his white gloved hand over hers and they walked back over to the photographer.

Speaking in very soft but rapid fire Japanese to Glenn, who answered in kind, Mrs. Munemori watched the couple intently. At one point he told her something which she seemed to find upsetting and she clucked her tongue at him, shaking her head.

Glenn shrugged and they went on talking, even as the photographer called her up next for her photo.

"Wonder what that's all about?" Shane asked as Carol and Daryl rejoined him and Rick while they waited for Glenn to finish with his translation duties. They weren't surprised when Mrs. M asked Glenn to take a picture with her, nor when she joined them at the reception.

"Man—I can't believe this!" Glenn said with barely contained excitement after he finished translating for Mrs. M and the California Senator to whom she'd been speaking.

"What's up, Glenn?" Rick asked.

Glenn held out a chair for smug looking Mrs. M and then sank into the empty chair next to Carol and shook his head in disbelief.

"The Senator wanted to show his respect for Mrs. Munemori and her son's sacrifice and when he asked her what he could do, she slammed him about the internment camps! It was amazing. He said that the order to close the camps that the President signed back in December was finally going to be carried out in all of California before the end of the year—my family will be able to go home, guys!" Glenn said, tears of happiness filling his eyes.

"Oh Glenn! That's wonderful news!" Carol said, hugging him.

A group of well dressed women at the next table looked scandalized at the embrace, whispering indignantly. They and most of the other Congressional wives and some of the military wives had made clear their displeasure at both Glenn and Mrs. Munemori's presence at the reception. They had tolerated them at the medal ceremony, but seemed to feel that they should not have to share air space with 'those people' at a social occasion. That Carol would associate with them made her personae non grata, worthy of contempt.

A dignified but friendly looking middle aged woman disengaged from a nearby conversation with several Navy men and approached their table.

"Mrs. Munemori?" she asked politely and the small woman rose immediately, bowing very low several times to the new woman. Immediately everyone else at the table rose as well, realizing who was addressing her.

"Mrs. Roosevelt, hello." Mrs. Munemori said, her eyes shining.

"Could you please translate for me, Marine?" the first lady asked Glenn with a smile.

Glenn nodded back numbly and then fumbled a bit, offering her his chair, which she graciously accepted.

"Please, everyone, sit down." Mrs. Roosevelt said, "I just wanted to renew my acquaintance with Mrs. Munemori and express my condolences. I met her and her family during my visit to Gila River two years ago."

Glenn got Mrs. M seated next to the first lady and he sat on her other side. After they exchanged greetings she insisted on being introduced to the rest of the table and learning about their lives and future plans after the service.

When Carol told her about her enlistment in the Navy Nurse Corps., Mrs. Roosevelt spoke eloquently and authoritatively about the need for good nurses, giving them the statistics on the greatly increased survival rates for soldiers who got immediate triage and nursing care as close to the battlefield as possible.

Daryl, sitting next to Carol, was next.

"As a Medal of Honor winner, Corporal Dixon, it would seem that the world is your oyster." Mrs. Roosevelt said with a smile.

"Oyster's kinda lonely inside that hard shell." Daryl shrugged, glancing at Carol.

"Perhaps you just need a little grit to irritate you; grow you a pearl to keep you company." the first lady quipped, looking back and forth between Daryl and Carol.

"Oh, she's got plenty of grit." Glenn said wryly and then translated the exchange with Mrs. M who nodded in agreement.

An officious looking man in a black suit came over to the table and leaned close to Mrs. Roosevelt who sighed and nodded. He stepped back, waiting for her.

"Duty calls, I'm afraid. It's been a distinct pleasure to meet you all—thank you all again for your service and your sacrifices for our nation." she stood, and so did everyone else at the table. She exchanged bows one last time with Mrs. M and then they watched her walk away with awe.

"Did that really just happen?" Glenn asked wonderingly, looking around the table at his friends who had varying expressions of disbelief on their faces.

* * *

They couldn't convince Mrs. M to come to the party at the Five Brothers. Her train for Connecticut where she was now living, working as a housekeeper after leaving Gila River, one of the first camps to close, was departing in an hour—she hadn't wanted to stay in the city overnight—and had come in early this morning for the day.

They drove her to the station and she and Glenn exchanged addresses, promising to write. They all tried their best to give her the proper bow goodbye, but could tell she was giggling inside by the way her eyes danced with mirth at their efforts. When she came to Carol she surprised her by drawing her into a brief hug and pressing a small package into her hand.

After Glenn returned from walking her up to the train car and making sure she was safely aboard, giving a likely looking porter the twenty bucks they had all chipped in for, to watch out for her, he saw Carol looking bemused at the small folded paper object she held.

"Origami." Glenn nodded, holding out his hand, "Japanese paper folding."

Carol handed him the little thing and watched as he pulled on the tail, making the wings move up and down, the delicate color patterns in the rice paper adding to the effect.

"It's a bird?" she asked, fascinated.

"A crane." Glenn nodded, "Japanese legend says that if you make a thousand and one of them that it will bring you good luck." he held the little bird out to Daryl to examine.

"Good luck?" Daryl asked, holding it gently in his palm, admiring its intricacy.

"To start your marriage." Glenn said with a grin, and then headed off, whistling a jaunty tune, to follow Shane and Rick who had already started walking back to the car.

Daryl stared down at the fragile paper bird, and then his eyes rose to Carol's. She was looking at him with resolve and sadness and part of him wanted to close his hand over the crane and crush it, hurt her the way she was hurting him. Instead he held it out to her and she carefully took it and wrapped it back up in its protective package, placing it in her coat pocket.

Carol stepped closer, taking both his hands in hers and squeezing them tightly, she raised them to her lips, kissed them and then held them to her chest.

"I love you Daryl Dixon... I never thought I could be this happy...and I _do_ want to marry you... but I _have_ to do this first." Carol told him, dry-eyed, her voice firm. "Hearing those stories today? _They're all you too_ —all those other Marines and soldiers—and I couldn't live with myself if I didn't do everything I could to get them home to the people that love them."

" _Can't lose you too."_ Daryl choked out, letting the tears flow as he pulled his hands from hers and wrapped his arms tightly around her, burying his face in her neck. _"I'll re-up; go with you."_

"No! You're out, home and safe!" Carol said, forcing his head up, holding his face, upset that he would even consider it, "You know they wouldn't let us be together and I'd have to worry about what was happening to you wherever they sent you. I couldn't stand it!"

"How am I supposed to stand by and let the woman I love go off to war?" Daryl asked her, looking lost.

"Women have been doing it for eons." Carol said, gently brushing at his tears and pushing his bangs back off his forehead.

"Yeah, well women are stronger." Daryl sniffed, a rueful little laugh escaping him.

Carol pulled his head down and kissed him then, feeling the crackle of the tiny rice paper bird in her pocket as she leaned in, hoping he was right, knowing it would take every ounce of courage she had to leave him in two short weeks.

* * *

 _Thank you so much for reading. I know this probably isn't what some of you were hoping for, but it's true to Carol's character._

 _On May 6, 1943, the first lady, Mrs. Eleanor Roosevelt really did spend a day at the Gila River Internment camp. Ok, so I went a little Forrest Gump there with Eleanor, but she's awesome and I wanted to put those biddies at the reception in their places! I don't know which camp the Munemori family was actually at, but they are real people:_

" _5 APR 1945: Japanese-American boys had struggled long to prove their loyalty to the United States despite paranoia and prejudice at home. The 442d Infantry Regiment built an impressive record of valor. On this day PFC Sadao S. Munemori became the only Japanese-American of the war to earn his Nation's highest honor. His Medal of Honor, presented posthumously to his mother, is on display at the Smithsonian Institution in Washington, D.C."_

 _Parts of President Roosevelt's speech taken from his letter, read at the Medal of Honor ceremony for Sergeant Hulon B. Whittington, Infantry, of Ellaville, Georgia, in a ceremony held Saturday, April 21, 1945._

 _The Freer Gallery of the Smithsonian in Washington, D.C. opened in 1923, and while its collections are primarily Asian art, in 1945 it did have showings of modern art, especially American and ex-patriot European modernists who fled Hitler in the 1930s and 40s, such as Picasso. Their abstract and non-representational works were considered "degenerate" by Hitler, who liked to paint realistic landscapes as a hobby._


	9. Chapter 9

_In his very Dixon way, Daryl prepares for Carol's imminent departure while Rick runs into trouble at the USO and news of a historical event may change all their lives._

* * *

 _ **April 12, 1945**_

"Again." Daryl said, his voice dispassionate, almost cold. He stood stock still, dressed in civvies: work clothes, a short sleeved blue chambray cotton shirt unbuttoned, showing his "wife-beater" white undershirt, soaked in sweat and tucked in to dark Levis, and well worn cowboy boots.

"Son, you've been at this every day this week, she needs a break. You both do." Hershel implored. The bucket of fresh drinking water and the dipper he'd brought them was his excuse for putting a stop to this. He was worried about both of them, but earlier attempts to talk to either or both had been brushed off in polite and not so polite a fashion respectively.

"I'm fine Hershel. You can go on back to the house; we'll catch you up in a bit." Carol said, wiping at the sweat dripping down into her eyes. Her sleeveless floral blouse was wet with it, sticking to her like a second skin. She'd tied her hair back off her face with a kerchief and wore a pair of Maggie's dungarees, cuffed at the ankles over boots. Mid April in Georgia and it was still eighty degrees at five o'clock in the afternoon.

Taking a cleansing breath Carol raised the pistol again, closing one eye as she carefully sighted the target, a hand drawn bulls-eye tacked to a wooden placard cut in the rough outline of a human form nailed to a fence post, the earth bank behind it forming a natural back stop.

Daryl made a low growling noise and threw a clod of dirt at her which hit her with a dry splat on her hip.

"Get it _open_ —use both eyes to sight or you flatten your field of vision! How many times do I gotta tell you that?" Daryl barked, "You got a Nazi or a Nip bearin' down on you he ain't gonna stand still and let you take your time lining up a pretty shot—you hit them _dead center_ and go on!"

Carol blew out an angry frustrated huff and fired, fast, emptying her gun.

Daryl stalked down to the target, at first furious, there were no holes in the paper bull's eye over the wooden man's heart—not one. And then he looked up and saw three hits, dead center, wood splintered marking them, in the head. Next he looked down...and there where the target man's crotch would be, were the other three.

"Which ones did you place first?" Daryl called back. "Dick or brains?"

"Which one do you _think_?" Carol asked back, her voice tight, staring at him as she popped out the clip and shoved it in her pocket. She fished out a full one from the other pocket and slammed it back in.

"I think we're done for the day." Daryl drawled, knowing he'd pushed her far enough.

"I'm not." Carol said, her tone a match to his earlier dispassionate one, "Please clear the range."

Raising his hands in surrender Daryl stepped away, going to stand next to Hershel out of the way to the side. He crossed his arms over his chest, his hands underneath them in a characteristic pose, waiting her out.

This time, both eyes open, she fired again, the snaps of white paper showing each hit on the target, another tight pattern, this time all within the first or second circle of the bulls-eye.

" _Now_ I'm done." Carol said, snapping the safety on and carrying the pistol back over to Daryl and handing it to him. Then she bent to the water bucket and lifted the dipper, taking a long drink.

Daryl watched her, his pride in her trying to hide behind a kind of Zen stoicism. Since their return from Washington a little less than week ago he'd been working with her on a sort of boot camp to prepare her for going into a war zone. Nurse's training could get her ready for the kinds of casualties she might have to treat, but the experience of being out there, of being able to defend herself in the face of the enemy, he only trusted to himself.

They had started with building up her stamina with calisthenics and running. Gun training had been a harder sell. Ed had hunted and had instilled a deep fear of guns in her. Knowing Daryl was a sniper and lived by his prowess with firearms had made her willing to listen to his reasoning, which was also rooted in the idea of protecting herself and others.

"Killing another human being should never be easy." Daryl said, his pistol and rifle sitting on her kitchen table when he'd brought them over to talk to her about it at the start of the week.

"How many?" Carol asked, staring down at the guns laying on the soft cloth he'd put down first, his cleaning kit sitting beside the weapons.

"How many have I killed?" Daryl wondered. "I knew...before Okinawa...I kept track of every one." he ran his hand down the barrel of the rifle, flicked the sight out and back.

"I don't want to kill anyone." Carol said frowning at the guns.

"If it's you or them? Or if you're protecting someone else?" Daryl asked her, his voice low and harsh.

Carol looked up at him.

"I hate that you're going—I hate it with everything in me, but if you're going I'm gonna help you get ready for whatever comes your way." he picked up the pistol, holding it out to her. "And that means knowing how to use this."

Carol took it from him, felt the weight of it in her hand. She looked up at him, saw his fear for her, the love there and nodded.

"Show me." she said.

She learned fast.

Today's target practice was the last on stationary targets, tomorrow they would start on moving ones. He and Glenn had been working on some sort of obstacle course for her in the woods on Hershel's farm. Daryl wanted her to be the best prepared damn recruit the fuckin' Navy Nurse Corps. had ever seen.

"You've gotten to be a pretty good shot." Hershel told her admiringly.

"I had a good teacher." Carol said quietly, refilling the dipper and offering it to Daryl who took it after returning the pistol to its case and then into the gun bag on the tree stump beside him.

"I'll see you all up at the house—dinner in an hour. Patricia said to tell you it's ham steaks and scalloped taters. She was wondering if you'd mind walking the fencerow for some of some of that wild asparagus." Hershel said, "Bring the bucket with you, when you come." and he ambled away back towards the house without waiting for a response to his request, disappearing through the grove.

Wise in the ways of men and women, the old pastor knew when he saw two people who needed some time alone together.

Daryl watched him go and then blew out a breath. He looked up at the sun, still strong even though it was almost dusk and stripped off his shirt, tucking it in his gun bag. Next he lifted the bucket, dumping half its contents over his head.

Pulling her wet and sticky blouse away from her chest Carol grimaced.

"It's not fair that you can just take off your shirt when you get too hot." She sighed, pulling off her scarf and blotting at her dripping forehead with it. She dipped it in the remains of the cool water Hershel had brought and wrung it out at her throat, the excess running down her cleavage, making her sigh a little in relief.

"It's either that or rip the sleeves off." Daryl shrugged. He forced himself not to notice the way her breasts, firm and high, pushed out against the clinging cotton, the way her nipples reacted to the chilled well water seeping over them...

"No sleeves and I'm still roasting." Carol groused back at him, trying not to stare at the sweaty shine of his muscular biceps or the way his t-shirt had turned transparent with his dousing, the outline of his tattoos visible, remembering mapping them each with her tongue...

"What's stopping you? I won't tell nobody." He drawled, shaking the excess water off of him like a wet pup and running his fingers through his hair, combing it back.

" _Daryl..."_ Carol admonished, pursing her lips at him.

"What? You got your skivvies on don'tcha? What gals wear to the beach now days ain't much more." Daryl said lazily, keeping his tone deliberately light. She was tired enough she wasn't being too prickly with him for once.

"The longer we're out here the more country you sound." Carol snarked, tugging on her collar and fanning the blouse material out from her a little.

"Spent a lot of time in the back woods huntin' with my brother when I was little." Daryl told her. It had also been his place of escape from his father when necessary, but he didn't tell her that.

"He teach you to shoot?" Carol asked, turning away, grimacing a bit and rolling her shoulders as she looked down towards the target.

"Uh uh." Daryl mumbled, frowning at her. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing...just a little sore from the kickback on that gun; I'll get used to it." she said dismissively. Before she could turn back around to face him he was there behind her, his big hands rubbing soothingly over her between her neck and the point of her shoulder.

It was the first time he'd touched her since they'd gotten back from Washington.

They hadn't talked about it; it just happened. She'd gone back to her apartment and he'd had to report back to the base, Glenn and he having used up all their weekend passes for the month in trade for the week away. Maggie and she had dropped them off at the base gate, where no PDA was allowed and the next time she'd seen him was when he had showed up at her place that Monday after she'd gotten off from work. With his guns.

They'd spent the evening in instruction. He'd taught her how to break the weapons down and clean them. The gun oil was sharp in her nose and she realized that it was part of his scent, underlying the rest of what made him smell so good to her.

He'd been so formal, almost mechanical in showing her the technical aspects that she realized he was treating her like a buck private, a novice to his expert instructor. He was like a drill sergeant, making her repeat each step until it was perfect. By the time she could do it to his satisfaction it was almost midnight. They sat at the table, just staring at one another.

The knock on her door surprised her and she let Daryl answer it. He opened it to find Rick with one eye swollen shut and a bloody lip, leaning on a black woman, glaring at Daryl suspiciously. Rick was in civilian dress, the front of his white shirt stained with blood, his collar open, tie missing.

"This where Carol lives?" the woman asked, her brows drawn up into a high frown.

"Daryl—sh'my buddy Daryl—she's hish girl, the nursh." Rick said, his speech mangled by the swelling of his lower lip.

" _What the hell, Rick."_ Daryl shook his head, taking his friend's other arm, supporting him under the shoulder to help him into the apartment.

"Couldn't take him to my hospital or to yours—he said he knew you—that you were a nurse and could help him." the woman said to Carol, easing Rick into one of the kitchen table chairs with Daryl's help.

"Mishonne. Thish ish Mishonne." Rick said, introducing her.

The woman, Michonne, looked over at Carol who was filling a basin with water and brought it and a few clean dish towels to the table to start cleaning the cuts.

"We were in my car...talking..." Michonne said, "They pulled open the door and dragged me out, told him he had to share..."

Daryl noticed for the first time that the front of her dress was torn down the front, the buttons gone, and she was wearing Rick's jacket over top of it. He pulled out a second chair for her and she sank into it without seeming to really notice what he had done.

"How many of them were there?" Daryl asked.

"Two white boys. I got a piece a one of 'em." Michonne said, reaching in her pocket and pulling out a knife, a switchblade, flicking it open and laying on the table. The blade was red with dried blood.

Rick started to chuckle, but it hurt and he winced instead.

"He went after them, got me loose, but then they ganged up on him." Michonne said, shaking her head at Rick and smiling ruefully. "Knocked one out, but the other had him in a choke hold until I stuck him."

"Is he...?" Carol asked, sounding worried.

"I stuck him in the ass—'course with him that might've _been_ his brain—but he lives." Michonne drawled.

They all laughed, a bit uneasily, at her jibe.

"Daryl, get some ice out of the icebox, please." Carol lifted Rick's right hand, knuckles bloody, already showing bruises and started to clean it.

"He saved me, so I had to save him back." Michonne said, sighing and staring at Rick fondly, as if she still wasn't quite sure what to make of him.

"Are you all right?" Carol asked quietly, looking up at the woman, trying to appraise her condition.

"He saved me." Michonne repeated, but this time exchanging a look that said she understood the question's intent, that no, she hadn't been assaulted, which would've been her fate without Rick's intervention tonight.

"I've seen you—at the USO." Carol said, taking the ice Daryl brought in a bowl and wrapping some up in a dishcloth, handing it to Rick to hold to his face while she immersed his right hand in the bowl.

"I work at the bakery that donates the cakes." Michonne nodded. "Sometimes I stay to cut them up and hand them out if nobody else can go."

"Like tonight." Carol said.

"He hadn't been there for a week..." She said, still looking at Rick. "Wanted to tell me about his trip to Washington, said you all met the President and had tea with Mrs. Roosevelt. I _said_ he was tellin' tall tales." Both she and Rick laughed softly.

Carol got up and said she'd be right back and left the room.

"He missed his ride back to base." Michonne continued.

"Shane?" Daryl snorted and Rick nodded.

"I had the catering truck so I told him not to waste his cash on a cab; said I'd drop him as close as I could to the base." Michonne finished and then added wistfully, "We were just sittin' in the parking lot talking."

Rick took the ice pack from his face and set it on the table so he could reach out and take her hand reassuringly.

"Ain't nothin' wrong with that." Daryl said with a small smile. Then he headed back to find out what Carol was doing, giving the couple some time alone.

He found her looking in her closet; she had already laid out several blouses on her bed.

"I think she's a little bustier than me... maybe a sweater set would be better..." she murmured.

"Carol?" Daryl asked.

"They were going to _rape_ her, Daryl!" Carol said with soft anguished vehemence. "Just because she was sitting in a car talking to a white man."

"Hey, hey, calm down." Daryl said gently, coming closer, but she backed away from him.

"How _we_ felt? On that bus before Jacqui spoke to us? That's how Michonne feels _all_ of the time; every day; how _Glenn_ feels. He and Maggie getting married? The guts it takes to do that when they know what it will be like for them here? For their children?" Carol said, sad and frustrated.

"Nothin' we can solve tonight, sweetheart." Daryl soothed, starting to lift his hand to take hers.

Carol nodded and backed away, heading for the kitchen, taking a pale blue shell and sweater set, still on its hanger, with her to offer Michonne as a change of clothes out of her ruined blouse.

Daryl stood there for a bit, his eyes narrowed; looking around her bedroom, realizing this was the first time they'd been in here together without even touching. Was that making it easier for her to leave him? Keeping him at arm's length? Probably.

He wasn't a man to go where he wasn't welcome. As much as he wanted her, being in this room, so full of the memories of what they'd been to each other here, having her shrink from his touch had sent her message loud and clear without her having to say a word.

Michonne had needed his help to get Rick back to the base that night so Daryl left with them without even a kiss goodnight.

* * *

If Carol's eyes were bloodshot and punctuated with dark circles at work the next day, Maggie knew better than to ask her about it when they met up for their first coffee break.

Maggie looked away, feeling guilty, twirling the engagement ring on her finger absently. Glenn had proposed the day after they got back from their trip and with her father's blessing she had said yes.

The wedding was this Saturday, the day before she and Carol had been supposed to leave for bivouac field training at Camp Gordon, south of Atlanta before possibly being shipped overseas to serve on one of the floating fleet hospital ships or at a base. There was also the chance they could be sent to one of the many naval bases stateside to help deal with the ongoing tide of wounded returning from battle, but no one knew which it would be. Maggie and Glenn had decided not to take that chance.

Carol was her maid of honor; Daryl, Glenn's best man.

They all knew something had happened between Carol and Daryl in Washington. The night of the party for Daryl's medal they had clung to one another, holding hands, never more than two steps from one another if they could help it. Trading kisses as they danced to all the slow sweet ones, Daryl stared at her when she spoke, like he was memorizing her face. Everyone expected an announcement that never came. That night, like the one before, Carol had cried herself to sleep in the bed next to Maggie.

Every day after work Carol came home with Maggie to train with Daryl, who was working on the farm with Otis and Glenn getting the spring planting in. The cattle on the place were sold to the military for canned and dried beef rations so crops in support of that were considered part of the war effort. Hershel had offered both Glenn and Daryl a job after they were discharged, saying there was plenty of work for them. As son-in-law Glenn would definitely be staying on, but Daryl hadn't yet given the preacher an answer.

Standing there at the edge of the pecan grove after target practice today he'd only thought to ease her pain, the shoulder rub something he would've done for one of his men; just as someone had done it for him before, a bracing liniment rub down to get the men through training. Yet the second he'd touched her he knew it wasn't the same. He knew she felt it too.

Whatever her reasons, however much he respected the distance she'd put between them, the fact that she was leaving in four days and he hadn't touched her since Washington wouldn't let him step back now unless that was what she still wanted.

" _Tell me to stop."_ Daryl murmured, continuing to press in with his thumbs, kneading the soft skin with the tips of his fingers. When she didn't speak he leaned closer, drawing her back against him and looping his right arm around her collarbone and his left around her waist to hold her close.

She was trembling.

" _Please don't tell me to stop..."_ Daryl whispered, nuzzling into her curls to find her ear, sighing as he kissed the curve of it. _"...every minute we're not together is one I regret."_

"We see each other every day." Carol protested weakly, but her breathing quickened as he splayed his fingers out, touching more of her and kissing down the curve of her jaw to her nape.

Daryl groaned softly, the smell and taste of her intoxicating, feeling like a drunk who'd just broke his pledge and took a willing swan dive off the wagon; she was headier than the strongest moonshine.

" _I didn't want to tempt you... or make it harder for you."_ she whispered, her voice breaking. _"When I leave."_

"Sweetheart, _it's_ always hard for you." he chuckled, holding her tighter at the waist. He could feel her giving in, relaxing back against him, the curve of her ass pressing back against his arousal, making him groan.

" _If you want me to stop, tell me now."_ he said again. Whatever happened between them was up to her; he'd ceded that control to her the moment they'd met.

" _Don't stop."_ Carol moaned.

Daryl's left hand closed around her shirt, tugging it out of the waist of her pants while the right worked the buttons and started to slide it off of her shoulders. But then he seemed to change his mind and tugged it back up, turning her to face him and capturing her lips with his in a deep, passionate but all too brief kiss.

"Someone's comin'." Daryl said quietly, pulling her shirt back together and buttoning it back up.

Then Carol heard it too, the sounds of someone running through the grove, snapping twigs as they stepped on them, breathing hard. The youngest Greene appeared and she was crying, looking around until she spotted them and ran towards them.

"He's dead! Mr. Roosevelt is dead!" Beth cried, wringing her hands. "We just heard it on the radio! Daddy said not to bother you, but maybe this means the war will be over; maybe Carol won't have to go, right?" she asked hopefully, flinging herself into Carol's arms and hugging her.

"Oh honey, I don't know." Carol told her, hugging her back, looking up at Daryl over the girl's shoulder.

"All it means is that Harry Truman is President now." Daryl said flatly. "Wars don't stop just 'coz one more man died."

"You act like you want her to go!" Beth said angrily, pulling away from Carol and rounding on Daryl. "Making her learn to shoot and fight—Maggie says she cries every night when she drives her back to town after they drop you and Glenn off at the base! Why couldn't you just ask her to marry you like Glenn did Maggie?"

"Beth, stop." Carol said sharply. "You don't understand anything."

Neither she nor Daryl had told anyone about his proposal. Real life was so much more complicated than this sheltered teenager's simple dreams of happily ever after.

Daryl grunted and grabbed the bucket off of the ground, flinging the remainder of the water out in an angry arc. Then he picked up his gun bag and slung it over his shoulder.

"Goin' to pick asparagus." he said tightly, starting to walk away, but then he paused and looked pointedly at Carol, his voice softening, "You comin'?"

"Carol?" Beth asked, looking back and forth between her and Daryl with confusion.

"Go back to the house, Bethie." Carol said firmly, "I'm going with Daryl. We'll be there after a bit." and then she took Daryl's hand, lacing her fingers through his, in perfect accord, knowing they had both decided to make the most of the time they had left.

* * *

 _I know it's into deep angst territory, so thanks so much for sticking with this one!_

 _Historical Notes:_ _  
On_ _ **April 12, 1945**_ _, while he was sitting for a portrait in Warm Springs, Georgia, President Franklin D. Roosevelt spoke what were probably his last words—"I have a terrific headache"—and fainted. He died two hours later, at 3:35 p.m., of a cerebral hemorrhage. Source:_ _The New Yorker_ _ & the FDR Library._

 _I did fudge a bit on the date of the Medal of Honor ceremony because I wanted to have the President and first lady present. In reality FDR would've already been in Warm Springs, at his home there (often referred to as "The Little White House" because of his frequent visits to use the hot springs, which were therapeutic for his legs that had been damaged by polio) in the first week of April 1945._

Rick's possible romantic interest in Michonne in segregated 1945 Georgia proved dangerous to them both. Georgia has a documented history of racial intolerance including the presence of the Klu Klux Klan and lynching, where white mobs killed African Americans whose "crimes" might include a simple land dispute such as the infamous one at Moore's Ford in 1946 that spurred President Truman to create a Presidential Committee on Civil Rights. Source: _New Georgia Encyclopedia_ articles/history-archaeology/lynching

 _I based some of what Daryl is teaching Carol on the TWD survival skills he must've taught her and this:_ "Mid-1943, the Army started providing basic training for Nurses, i.e. a 144-hour program including, basic military training, administration, organization, sanitation, and ward and clinic nursing. By June 1944, outdoor training was increased, and training aids were introduced in order to provide for more realism." Source: WWII Medical Research Center

Navy Nurse Corps. information from these really neat websites: the first full of research from a WWII re-enactor who specializes in historical correctness of military uniforms & dress: "blitskriegbaby" . and the WWII Online Museum's pages on "Women in War"


	10. Chapter 10

_Her training done, Carol is stationed aboard a military hospital ship in the Pacific._

 _Note:_ _Italics indicate Daryl's letter to Carol.  
"swabbie"= Navy man, usually lower ranking_

 _It's been awhile since I updated this one-thanks for sticking with it!_

* * *

 ** _USS Hope: Comfort Class Hospital Ship_**

AIRMAIL: Special Military Postal Rate/USO Delivery

 _Carol: It's so quiet here at night. Sometimes I feel like the world ended and no one bothered to tell us out here on the farm and so we just go on with our chores the same as always, hoping to hear news that never comes. It'd been three weeks since a letter from you came and then it was three all in the same day, half of the words blacked out by the censors, held up by them for weeks for whatever reason. I try to read sense into what little they leave and think that you must be in some strategic place saving people like you always wanted to do. I miss you every minute of every day._

 _You probably already heard this from the girls, but just in case. The big news here is that Maggie and Glenn are having a baby, due in November and Beth has a boyfriend, a good kid (tho a swabbie) from Woodbury named Zack she met at the USO, (though his hot rod drives Hershel to distraction!)_

 _Rick and Michonne are not having an easy time of it. They spend a lot of time out here—say it's the only place they feel accepted. Her people are angry and he hasn't even tried to talk to his about her. Not sure what's going to happen with them, but they say love conquers all, right?_

* * *

"The man is insufferable!" Doris, the head ward nurse threw down her clipboard onto her desk and looked about ready to spit fire.

"John Doe Number Seven again?" Carol asked, looking over at her sympathetically, folding the letter from Daryl and slipping it back into its envelope.

"I have never met a man with a worse attitude than that one has..." Doris said, her anger giving way to a defeated tone. "He refuses to even _try_."

"He's proud, Dorie—you can see that in the way he carries himself—that arrogant tilt of his head when he's shoving his food tray onto the floor..." Carol said with a sigh of commiseration. Number Seven was a pain in all of their respective behinds.

They had six other men who remained unidentified on their transport ship. He was one of three POWs from a Japanese concentration camp who had arrived without dog tags. All three had head injuries: one of them was comatose and another had brain damage that had reset him with the intelligence of a child.

Seven's case was a bit more complicated. He had flash burns around his eyes which had made him, hopefully only temporarily, blind. In addition, both of his hands were badly burned and had been left untreated so long that he was probably going to lose them to infection. The icing on the cake was his memory loss. Number Seven had no idea who he was.

Traumatic amnesia was a controversial topic in psychiatric medical circles and studying people with brain injuries was one of the top areas for researchers interested in the phenomenon. One theory was that exposure to sensory information from a sufferer's past could help jumpstart memory, but that wasn't possible with unknowns, people who turned up without any ID or way to identify them. The best thing to be done for then was to try and integrate them into their new reality.

That was proving difficult with this particular patient. Frustrated with his inability to see and to do something as simple as feed and bathe himself, Seven was verbally abusive to everyone on the Ward; doctors, nurses, even his fellow patients, with the exception of John Doe Number Six, the boy who spoke and acted like an innocent eight year old. The only other person whose presence he seemed to tolerate was Carol's.

"He asked for you." Doris said, "Wanted to know if you were coming to read to them today."

Carol's voice, its Atlanta cadences very much like his own, seemed to soothe Seven. He called her his "Georgia Peach." His more gravel laced drawl marked him as a son of the south, but that wasn't much to go on. In the camp where he'd been, all of the records that might have said where the captives had been liberated from had been destroyed by the Japanese and none of the more ambulatory prisoners from there had recognized any of the John Does as men from their units or ships.

"Of course—we're only halfway through _Gone with the Wind_ ," Carol smiled. In the last mail call they had been allowed, now almost a month ago, Beth had sent it to her a Care package full of reminders of their home state, including the Civil War era bestselling book that had been made into such a popular film before the war. "And it's over a thousand pages."

"I wish it was longer..." Doris said, rolling her eyes. Carol's story hour was about the only time they got some peace from Seven's tirades.

"Three weeks and we're home." Carol reminded her, running her fingers longingly over the crumpled envelope of Daryl's last letter which had come in the same batch as Beth's gift.

There was a big push to collect all the wounded from the region and evac them to the States, which led everyone to believe that the final assault on Japan was imminent. The black-out on communications was also a sign that something big was in the offing, but it made everyone antsy not to have regular mail calls. Everyone was missing that small slice of home that letters and packages brought.

She'd known being separated from Daryl would be hard, but she hadn't expected the constant dragging sadness in her heart that made just getting out of her bunk every day a struggle. His letters had been a lifeline, full of news about home and plans for their future; without the luxury of new ones, she reread the old ones, one every morning to start her day and one every night to end it. The last few days she'd taken to carrying one around with her so she could take a hit when she needed it, like some of the guys did with their cigarettes.

When Carol had gotten her orders to ship out on one of the floating hospitals heading for the Pacific she had been devastated. She'd hoped to be stationed stateside so she could more easily stay in touch with Daryl and the Greenes, perhaps even have visits with them whenever she got leave. But now that the war effort only had one front, most of the Navy's medical personnel were being sent towards Japan.

Maggie and Glenn's wedding had been a bittersweet celebration, everyone happy for the young couple, but well aware that Carol was leaving the next day. Standing at the altar as their attendants she and Daryl never took their eyes off of one another. At the reception Daryl told Hershel he would come work for him on the farm until Carol returned, which had made both the old minister and Carol very happy.

A month into Carol's training, on May 8th, 1945, partial victory had been declared with the German surrender in Europe. VE day had been a delirious time full of celebrations and hope. It was also the last time she had been able to see Daryl before reporting to her ship. The nurses in her unit were all given a long weekend of leave, but told to stay in California, where she'd been stationed pending shipping out. Daryl had been able to catch a ride on a military plane from Atlanta to San Francisco and she'd met him there.

She'd never forget the little hotel they'd stayed in or the seafood restaurant right on the bay they'd eaten at almost every night or the flea market in Chinatown where he'd bought her a little silver ring. It had a mother of pearl inlayed flower with five petals, so like the wild white Georgia rose whose story he'd recounted to them that he said she had to have it to remind her of home.

Carol pressed her fingers to the ring she wore on a chain at her neck, now concealed under her uniform. They weren't permitted to wear jewelry while working, but as soon as she went off duty she slipped it back on her hand...her _left_ hand, where Daryl had placed it the last night in San Francisco, when they'd gotten married.

It hadn't been a legal ceremony, no license or preacher, their vows made only for each other's ears, but it had been as real to them as what they'd witnessed for their friends a month earlier. They had pledged themselves to one another, to their future together after the war was finally over.

Carol still shivered when she remembered their wedding night; she relived it often to stave off the dragging loneliness. She could hear his whispered pleas to come back to him between all consuming kisses, their bodies merged as one, breathing in synch. She'd never felt closer to another human being except the daughter she'd carried within her. He was her other half, her soul's mate.

"Carol?" Doris asked, interrupting her reverie, touching her shoulder.

"Sorry..." Carol said.

"You're giving Tara a hand with debriding Seven's hands now?" the head asked.

"They're deciding tomorrow, right?" Carol asked, frowning.

"Dr. Jenkins is hoping they only have to take off the one. Even if he doesn't have full use of it, it's better to have at least one hand." Doris told her. There was another ward on board with just amputees, some of them horribly maimed, missing more than one limb. "Rehabilitation" began as soon as they were deemed healthy enough, and was geared towards making them self sufficient when they returned home.

Carol nodded.

"You ready, Carol?" a voice from the doorway asked.

Carol saw Dr. Jenkin's assistant in the burn ward, Tara, a fellow RN, waiting for her there. The straight forward blunt manner of the dark haired younger woman had been a bit off putting at first, but Carol had grown to appreciate the patience she had with the men during the often agonizing treatment for their burns.

Debriding was the removal of dead skin and necrotic tissue to allow new growth and healing. It was a necessity that both medical personnel and patients despised. Carol reading to Seven was his reward for the undergoing the twice weekly process.

* * *

"You bit through your lip again." Carol admonished, lifting a damp towel to wipe the blood from her patient's chin.

"You get all prissy when I say the words that come to mind while she's skinnin' me so 'as doin' my best to keep my trap _shut_." Seven growled, flinching back from the towel's touch and ducking his head.

"You okay to stay, Carol?" Tara asked, solicitously as she was clearing the last of the bloody instruments, old dressings and debris from the procedure on the table beside the bed and placing them onto her cart.

"I'm fine. You go on." Carol told the other nurse.

"Okay—save you a seat at mess." Tara promised and then wheeled her cart out the door.

"You don't _sound_ like one of them, Peach." Seven said, allowing her to grasp his chin so she could hold the towel to the puncture he'd inflicted on himself.

"One of them?" Carol asked. "A nurse?"

"A lady who likes ladies." a young sounding voice piped up from the next bed over.

" _Johhnny!"_ Carol turned around to look at John Doe Number Six, her mouth open. The six foot blond blue eyed, broad shouldered twenty-something with a dent in his skull smiled at her conspiratorially.

"That's what Seven says." Six, who they all called Johnny, exclaimed happily. "He says sometimes ladies like men, but sometimes ladies like _ladies_ and Nurse Tara is one of _them_."

"Seven!" Carol couldn't believe he would say such things, especially not to the boy.

"Kid was crushing on her—couldn't have that!" Seven defended himself. "Just get his little ol' heart broken."

"Why would you even think such a thing?" Carol asked him.

"What? Coz' I can't see her?" Seven snorted, "Don't need to see the woman—I hear how she talks, feel her touch, things she says. I _know_ how she feels about _you_ , darlin' and if you were so inclined, she'd take you for a spin."

"What an odd thing for you to _know_." was Carol's surprised reaction to that revelation.

"Maybe 'coz I feel the same way...'bout you... Seven said softly, reaching out for her hands with his heavily bandaged ones, his mouth set in a downturned line.

Carol felt tears prick her eyes and sat on his bed so she could gently grasp the man's forearms just above the dressings that rose almost to his elbow on the right and to his wrist on the left. His breath hitched and she let him draw her closer, into a careful hug. She wrapped her arms around him and pulled his head to her shoulder.

"They probably gonna cut off my hands tomorrow." Seven said, his voice hoarse. "What woman's ever gonna want me after that? Blind son of a bitch with no hands who don't even know his own name?"

They'd been taught to keep the men's spirits up at all times; to not dwell on their shortcomings or injuries; to encourage them to look ahead not back...

"Do you want me to tell you the truth?" Carol asked him.

"I trust you." the soldier said.

Carol released her hold on him and sat up straight, keeping her hand on his left forearm.

"The burns look like you reached into a fire—the right hand went deeper as your dominant hand and that's the one they'll probably have to take. Best case, you'll have partial use of the left hand when they take off the bandages." Carol explained.

"And my eyes?" Seven asked her. "I could see light and shadows before I got here—gonna be the same when they take these bandages off?"

"The optometrist has had good outcomes from this course of treatment." Carol told him carefully, "So it could be even more than that."

His lips twisted at that, struggling not to call bullshit.

"And my memory? Am I ever gonna know who the _fuck_ I am?" he grated out bitterly.

"I...I don't know..." Carol said, shocked into honesty by the pain in his voice.

"Ah, so now you all about the truth?" He laughed then, an ugly sound. "Then I'll return the favor." he pulled his arm from her grasp and held up his hands, "If I could use these? Or find my way outa this locked room? I'd be done. Cut my throat, hang myself, go over the side—anything-any way I could." he dipped his head towards Johnny, "Tried to have his dumb ass break my neck, but all he did was cry when I asked him."

"I'm not going to hurt him. He's my friend." Johnny said stubbornly, crossing his arms across his chest, tears forming in his eyes.

"That's right; he's our friend." Carol assured the younger man, feeling out of her depth. How had she not understood her patient's despair? Battle fatigue, combat neurosis, whatever Dr. Monroe the military psychiatrist called it, how couldn't it be so much worse for these men who believed they had no past nor future?

"Yeah, that's my luck—my only friend's literally got a hole in his head and the gal I'm sweet on only comes around here coz it's her fuckin' _job_." Seven barked.

"That's not true." Carol protested quietly. "You're my _friend_."

"We get off this boat it's _adios_ , John Doe Number Seven..." he said bleakly. "You go back to your real life with whoever writes you all them letters always cracklin' in your pocket."

She couldn't argue with the truth of that. Carol didn't know what would happen to these men when they made it back to the States; what would happen to _any_ of the soldiers who had sacrificed their bodies and minds for their country?

* * *

 _It's good here, on the farm. I'm glad I said yes to Hershel. Since I lost Merle I hadn't had any sort of family other than Rick, Shane and Glenn. They're my brothers as much as he was after all we went through together and this place, this family has welcomed us all, made it feel like home._

 _When we're all here, when you're back, I want to have our wedding here, is that okay?_

* * *

"He's waiting for me, back in Atlanta." Carol said quietly, pulling Daryl's letter from her pocket. "He was a Marine—we met at the USO—he's a good man..."

"Jarhead? Shoulda known. Those assholes always get the best women." Seven complained, gently teasing her now, his attitude more resigned.

"Seven?" Johnny piped up.

"Yeah kid?" the older man responded.

"When we get off the boat I'll go with you." the boy said stoutly, standing up and moving to the side of Seven's bed and then with soft compassion and a hand to his shoulder added, "I don't want you to be alone and make yourself dead."

Seven barked out a rough laugh that became a sob. Carol put her arms around him again and then Johnny put his around them both.

"We'll get you through this." Carol soothed, already planning on how she'd convince him to talk to Dr. Reg Monroe about his fears. The psychiatrist was one of the kindest people she'd ever met—he reminded her a lot of Hershel—and she hoped he could help this broken man. "We will."

* * *

 _Hope this finds you well, and sooner rather than later. I know you're doing good and helping save all my other brothers in arms wherever you are. We're all Praying for you and for an end to this war that's keeping us apart. Be safe. ILYMW. Daryl_

* * *

 _ILYMW_ : I love you my wife.

 _The USS Hope_ was built, commanded and crewed by the Navy for the Army. These ships, unlike the Navy hospital ships, were intended for evacuation and transport of patients after primary care had been given. She sailed to support the ramping up in the Japanese theater in the spring of 1945.

In 1947, the U.S. Army released a documentary, entitled _Shades of Gray_ , about the causes and treatment of mental illness during WWII. This documentary indicates the consensus at that time that no one is immune to mental illness, and that environmental factors play a large role in the development of psychological problems. Combat exhaustion was thought to encompass such symptoms as hyper-vigilance, paranoia, depression, loss of memory, and conversion.

 _Thanks for reading!_


	11. Chapter 11

_Carol struggles to help someone on the USS Hope make an important decision while back in Atlanta Daryl deals with emotionally taxing challenges._

* * *

June 3, 1945: Greene Farm, outside Atlanta 

" _Daryl?"_ the call of that particular woman's voice set Daryl's teeth on edge. He stopped the motion of his ax chopping the firewood from a fallen oak and held still, hoping she hadn't gotten a fix on his location.

For the life of him he couldn't understand Shane's insistence on bringing the woman here to the farm. She was about as comfortable in the great outdoors as a cat in a dog pound, but she always seemed to wander off, gettin' herself lost, to where someone would have to go lookin' for her ass.

"Oh! there you are, oh my!" teetering on her heels, the blonde stopped short when she saw the arresting sight of Daryl Dixon stripped to the waist, his tanned and powerful chest and defined arms glistening, his hair dark with sweat. She stood, open mouthed staring at him.

"You lost again, Jessie?" Daryl growled, dropping the ax down to rest at the base of the tree stump and pulling the rag out of his back pocket to wipe off his face, the stinging sweat running into his eyes.

Jessie came closer, too close, making Daryl step back, stopped by the pile of logs behind him. She raised one hand and ran it from his left shoulder down to close over his bicep, looking into his eyes with pure lust, biting her lower lip.

" _Jessie."_ Shane's warning voice came from behind her.

"There you are, darling. Look! I found him!" Jessie dropped her hand away from Daryl's arm and raised it to smooth back her hair as she turned to smile brightly at the other man.

Daryl ducked around her, giving Shane an angry look as he grabbed up his ax again.

"She get off her leash?" Daryl drawled, making clear his disgust with the woman's antics.

"Actually Hershel sent us to find you—there's...there's a telegram." Shane explained haltingly, "For you."

"Me?" Daryl asked, sinking the ax head into the stump of the tree.

"Yeah—I'm sorry, man." Shane nodded, his face somber.

"Do you know what it—" Daryl began.

"Woody won't give it to nobody else—you gotta sign for it." Shane shook his head no, reaching down and picking up Daryl's shirt and handing it to him. "You need to come to the house."

"Yeah...sure...uh—can you give me a minute?" Daryl asked quietly, his face a blank, taking the shirt and pulling it on absently, inside out.

"Sure, Dix. You want me to stay? Walk back with you?" Shane asked, worried about his friend.

"No—you all go on ahead, I'll be there presently." Daryl said.

Shane nodded and then with a worried look yanked the ax out of the stump and took it with him, pulling Jessie along with a firm grip on her upper arm while she protested, looking back at Daryl in confusion.

After they left the clearing Daryl sat down on the stump, hard, his ears ringing, dizzy with memory.

 **Western Union  
** _ **We regret to inform you of the death of your brother, Master Chief Petty Officer Merlin Dixon/stop/Lost at sea when his ship, the**_ _ **USS**_ _ **Abner Read**_ _ **(DD-526)**_ _ **was**_ _ **sunk by Kamikaze attack in Leyte Gulf, Philippine Islands, 1 November 1944/**_ _ **stop/**_

 _ **Office of the Secretary of the Navy/stop/**_

" _Not her."_ Daryl said, closing his eyes against the tears that threatened, _"Please God, not her."_

* * *

They were all on the porch, Beth crying into Zack's shoulder, perched on the bottom steps, Maggie holding hands with Glenn, sitting on the porch swing while Patricia served Woody, the Western Union man a glass of iced tea at the small table next to it. Shane and Rick stood on either side of the steps while Michonne had corralled Jessie into sitting with her in the two wicker chairs on the side of the porch furthest from the steps. Hershel stood at the top of the steps, waiting for Daryl.

"There he is!" Woody said, springing up, draining the rest of his tea and handing the glass back to Patricia with a thank you kindly.

"Woody." Daryl said, "Sorry to keep you waiting."

"You was workin' I see—Hershel's a lucky man having all these strong backs out here to help with the work! We had a couple a' those German POWs workin' at our place and you'd think they never seen a cow the way they bellyache about milkin' n' doin' chores!" he chuckled, coming to the top of the stairs to stand next to Hershel and looking down at Daryl.

The shortage of men locally before VE day had meant some of the POWs housed near Atlanta, those deemed less dangerous for whatever reason, had been available to local farmers during planting and harvest as free labor. Hershel had never felt comfortable with the idea, mainly because of his girls, and so hadn't participated in the program.

" _Woody."_ Hershel said sternly, reminding the man of why he was here.

"Oh, right—you need to sign for this one, Daryl." Woody said, galumphing noisily down the steps in his loose legged gait. Tall, skinny and past draft age, Joe Woodley wasn't the sharpest knife in the drawer. His job delivering telegrams taxed most of his abilities.

Daryl took the clipboard and signed, looking at the thin envelope Woody held out to him like it was a rattler about to strike. He forced himself to hold out his hand and the Western Union man completed his delivery.

"Thanks for the tea, Mizz Patricia—gets thirsty ridin' around in the dust all day on these dirt roads." Woody said, and then said his goodbyes to the rest before putting on his leather helmet and riding off on his motorcycle, his satchel flapping in the wind.

Daryl hadn't moved from where he stood. Everyone was staring at him and he couldn't make himself move.

"Come sit down, son." Hershel said quietly, and Shane and Rick closed in on either side of Daryl, each putting a hand on his shoulders.

Daryl made it halfway up the steps before he turned and sank down, done moving, his ass hitting the riser. Shane and Rick sat on either side. Daryl stared at the envelope for a few beats and then held it up above his head, his hand shaking.

" _Hershel...?"_ Daryl asked. He knew he could hear it from someone he trusted, he just didn't want to have to look at it all spelled out for him, cold and clinical in ink and paper like before.

Hershel took the telegram and sighed, then ran his finger under the seal to open it. Almost immediately his face broke out in a huge grin and he laughed and handed the thin slip of paper back to Daryl.

 _ **Western Union**_

 _ **Daryl no mail so telegram/stop/Docking in SF June 30/stop/Tell H have 2 more vets for farm/stop/please come/stop/ILYMHCarol/stop/**_

 _ **Telegraph Office, USS Hope/stop/**_

" _Oh shit."_ Daryl exhaled in relief, his head going down between his knees, trying to keep from passing out. _"Scared the shit outa me..."_ he mumbled.

"Daddy what is it?" Beth cried, "Is Carol okay?"

"She's fine—her ship is coming back at the end of the month, that's all—she wants Daryl to come meet her in San Francisco again." Hershel told everyone.

Beth jumped up and ran to her father to give him a tackle hug while Zack looked bemused.

"Thank God." Patricia said, holding her hand to her heart. Maggie hugged Glenn and Rick and Shane both slapped Daryl on the back heartily.

Michonne smiled over at Jessie, but frowned when she saw the sour expression on the blonde's face as she stared down at Daryl. Leaning closer, Michonne closed her hand over the other woman's wrist and squeezed rather hard. Jessie gasped and glared at her, but Michonne just leaned closer and whispered.

" _Girl, you best put your eyes back in your head and forget any fool notions you might be hatching about that particular man."_

"You're mistaken, I'm with Shane now." Jessie said tersely, standing up and going into the house.

"Mmm hmmn." Michonne grumbled knowingly. She trusted Daryl, but she'd continue to have Carol's back while the other woman was away. She wouldn't put anything past Jessie, who still bore both women a grudge over Daryl choosing Carol and Rick choosing Michonne instead of her at the USO. Even Shane had initially gone after Andrea, but that had soon fizzled out when she realized what a hound he was, catching him in a clinch with a hat check girl at one of the jazz clubs.

"This calls for a celebration!" Hershel announced heartily, offering his hand to Daryl, who came up onto the porch to shake it, followed by Shane and Rick. As they all trooped into the house, Rick came over to Michonne, offering his hand to help her up.

Michonne tilted her head back to look at him, wondering if what they had was ever going to have the chance to be what Carol and Daryl had together, a love that could survive anything.

"You ready?" Rick asked, giving her a lazy smile, tilting his head in the opposite direction.

"Always." Michonne teased back, raising an eyebrow at him and he pulled her up with a quick jerk until she was laughing in his arms and he was kissing her.

* * *

June 30, 1945, San Francisco Navy Shipyard

Daryl, Glenn and Maggie stood on the dock in the waiting area set aside for families of the returning Navy and Army personnel on the USS Hope. Glenn had gotten word his parents and sisters would be released from Manzanar on August 3rd and had brought his bride to meet them and decide what the next step for the family should be. He wanted then to relocate to Atlanta and hoped to convince them of that.

They were also there as the official representatives of the Greene family to welcome the two soldiers whom Carol was bringing with her to stay at the farm. Apparently she'd only been allowed to send the one telegram and no letters had arrived giving any further explanation, but Hershel trusted her judgment, so if she felt the men needed the farm, they were welcome.

Glenn watched Daryl anxiously scouring the passengers disembarking, and then scowling when a petite red head in a nurse's uniform turned out to _not_ be Carol.

"Where the hell is she?" Daryl fretted, bringing his thumb to his mouth to chew on the nail bed, something Glenn hadn't seen him do for a long while. The rather child-like behavior looked especially incongruous with the mustache and chin whiskers he had grown in the months since he'd been mustered out. That and the longer hair made him look older, less the clean cut Marine, even in his Sunday suit.

"She's probably coming out with the men—the walking wounded will be next to last, then the ones who have to come on stretchers." Maggie said. "It's like triage in reverse; keeps things moving."

"Makes sense." Glenn nodded, putting his arm around his wife proudly.

"You think they'll be on stretchers?" Daryl asked, frowning, he hadn't thought of that possibility.

"Maybe." Maggie said thoughtfully. "Oh wait—is that her?" she pointed to three figures high above them still on deck, a tall blonde younger man, and a nurse all in white with cap and navy blue cape blowing in the breeze, who seemed to be arguing with another man, whose back was to them.

Daryl almost ran to the edge of the roped off area and began waving both arms and calling Carol's name loudly.

Up on deck, Carol was doing her best to reassure Seven that her friends were totally on board with having him and Johnny come to Atlanta. She'd used it as a motivator after his surgery, when they'd all been afraid his dark thoughts would drag him under.

They'd taken his right hand almost to the elbow, and the left, though starting to be usable with intense physical therapy, was an ugly mass of scar tissue over bone. The pressure glove he wore over it hid a lot of the damage, but he was still very self-conscious about it. He had an appointment at the big military hospital in San Francisco the next day to be fitted for his right arm prosthesis.

His vision was a partial victory. He had sight back in his left eye; not 100%, but enough that he could see well enough to read with thick lenses and navigate the world without them. The right had been too badly damaged and had to be removed. He wore a patch over it until he decided if he wanted to get a glass one.

At the eleventh hour though, Seven had tried to back out. He told Carol he'd keep his appointment at the base hospital tomorrow, but then he'd just as soon be left alone to go on his own way. The idea of taking charity just didn't sit well with him.

"It's not charity—you're going to have to work—it's a working farm!" Carol argued.

"Yeah, an' what d'yall expect me to do there? Gather eggs in my pretty yellow basket hangin' off my hook?" Seven snarked.

"I like chickens." Johnny said, beaming at the both of them, who ignored his comment.

"You don't get to do this, Seven." Carol said, her mouth set in a stubborn line. She pointed down to the dock below. "They're waiting for us."

"That's another thing—you think I wanna meet the asshole stole you away from me?" the older man asked incredulously.

"Stealing's wrong." Johnny frowned.

"That's right, son—you tell miss high and mighty—breakin' my heart." Seven pouted.

Carol leaned in and kissed Seven softly on the cheek, silencing him. He looked down into her crystal blue sympathetic eyes and knew she was telling him that she cared about him, but her heart belonged to the letter writing Marine who'd given her the little white flower ring she now wore openly on her left hand.

"We're leaving." Carol said, stepping back and taking Johnny's hand. The kid lifted both their duffels over his strong shoulder and went along with Carol.

John Doe Number Seven stood and watched them move away from him, Carol's step light and quick, the kid lengthening his strides to keep up with her in her impatience to rush ahead and meet her man.

"You comin'?" Johnny called back over his shoulder with a smile, and then Seven saw his only two friends in the world disappear into the crowd.

" _Well hell."_ Seven sighed in defeat and followed them down the gangplank.

* * *

"Wow, he's a big one!" Glenn said under his breath when Carol and the blonde giant came into view. Maggie chuckled and Daryl frowned when she saw that Carol was holding the soldier's hand.

Then Carol spotted them and her face broke open in joy. Pulling the young man along with her she hurried towards where they waited behind the ropes.

Daryl ducked under the barrier and ran for her, dodging the MPs who admonished him to slow down but made no attempt to stop him.

"That's your fella." Johnny grinned, releasing Carol's hand just as Daryl reached them and scooped her up in a crushing hug, lifting her off her feet and spinning her around before she grabbed his face and found his lips with hers in a passionate hungry kiss.

Maggie and Glenn made their way over and stood smiling, behind Daryl.

"Get a room, Peach." Seven drawled in derision, coming to stand next to Johnny behind Carol, tossing his duffel to the ground with a grunt.

Daryl froze, breaking the kiss, lifting his head and looked over Carol's shoulder, staring at the other man, his mouth open.

Carol turned so she could see what had caught his attention and then smiled.

"Daryl, these are the men I told you about, the big one's Johnny and the surly one's—"

" _Merle."_ Daryl breathed, his heart thudding. Gaunt and gray, missing an arm and with a god damn pirate patch on his eye, it was still fucking _Merle_ , he'd know that voice and that scowl anywhere. He released Carol and walked straight over to his brother and grabbed him up so suddenly and so tightly that Merle allowed it, in complete shock.

"Merle? _Your brother Merle_?" Glenn asked, exchanging a stunned look with Maggie, who put her hand over her mouth in wonder.

"Daryl?" Carol asked, and Daryl released Merle, holding him at arm's length so he could look at him. Seeing them together Carol realized the similarities—the same pointed chin and high cheekbones, the same broad shoulders and blue eyes—could it be true? The man she'd nursed over these last months was Daryl's _brother_ who had supposedly been killed at sea?

"How? Where did you find him?" Daryl asked her, tears running down his face.

Merle looked bewildered and Johnny concerned.

"I didn't know, Daryl—he's a John Doe, both of them are." Carol explained.

"A John Doe?" Daryl looked back at Merle.

"No memories." Merle said, shaking his head and pulling away from Daryl, squinting at him warily, "You tellin' me we're _family?_ "

"Merle Dixon, I'm your brother Daryl." Daryl nodded, smiling. Carol came to stand next to him and he put his arm around her and pulled her close to his side.

"You mean I lost Peach to my fuckin' baby _brother_?" Merle said, his mouth wrinkling in mocking distaste at the embrace, and then he spit onto the ground, covering his overwhelming emotions with bluster.

"Stop it, Seven," Carol chided, but then shook her head, grinning wryly, "I mean _Merle_... well, that will take some getting used to."

"Are you _my_ brother too?" Johnny said hopefully, looking at Daryl.

Merle looked stricken and he and Carol exchanged a look. Carol's eyes filled with tears and she stared at Daryl with a helpless crooked smile.

"That's right," Daryl said, taking a deep breath and putting a warm welcoming smile on his face as he gazed up at the young blonde soldier, "John Dixon, I'm your big brother Daryl." and then he stepped forward and pulled the kid into a hearty hug.

Looking over Johnny's shoulder, Daryl locked eyes with Merle who narrowed his and nodded in grudging approval of the lie.

"That means you and me are brothers too, Seven!" Johnny said happily when Daryl let him go and then the kid turned to Merle and picked him up, making him grimace in pain when the action bumped against his stump.

"Johnny—enough—you'll squish him." Carol said, reining the boy in so he'd let Merle go.

"I'm just happy is all, Nurse Carol! I got family!" Johnny said, hugging her next. Then he looked over at Glenn and Maggie. "My name's John Dixon." he said proudly and held out his hand for Glenn to shake.

"Nice to meet you, John, I'm Glenn and this is my wife, Maggie."

"Your _wife_?" Merle said, surprised, looking Maggie up and down. "You married to a Jap?"

"He's _Korean_." Daryl said warningly.

"Whatever." Merle said dismissively, "They got enough pretty women in Atlanta they's lettin' them get married off to the likes a' you two, sounds like a place I might wanna be."

"That means you'll come with us?" Carol asked hopefully.

The idea that his brother wouldn't return with him to Atlanta had never occurred to Daryl and he looked at Carol sharply, but she just took his hand in hers and gave it a squeeze, silently asking him to wait before he spoke.

"Atlanta's where Miss Scarlett met Rhett Butler." Johnny volunteered. "It's the state capital of Georgia, and the state bird is the brown thrasher, the state flower is the Cherokee Rose, and the state nickname is the _Peach_ State."

Everyone stared at him.

"I may be slow, but I know my states." Johnny said smugly.

* * *

So yes, Seven is Merle, as pretty much everyone figured out from the previous chapter! And a tiny dollop of Richonne for you as well;-)

" _By 1943 German, Austrian, and Italian POWs were held at Fort Oglethorpe,_ _Fort Benning_ _,_ _Fort Gordon_ _, Camp Stewart (later_ _Fort Stewart_ _), and Camp Wheeler near_ _Macon_ _. By mid-1944 the shirts emblazoned with the large letters "PW" were a common sight in Georgia. Some German and Italian POWs befriended soldiers and farmers, and they were invited into Americans' homes for meals and entertainment." Source:_ _Georgia encyclopedia dot org_

 _Merle was a Master Chief Petty officer, which is_ _the ninth, and highest, enlisted rate (_ _pay grade_ _E-9) in the_ _U.S. Navy_ _and_ _U.S. Coast Guard_ _, just above_ _senior chief petty officer_ _. Master chief petty officers are addressed as "Master Chief (last name)." They constitute the top 1.25% of the enlisted members of the maritime forces._

 _Merle's ship the_ _Abner Read_ _was real and sank on Nov. 1, 1944 while patrolling the lower Leyte Gulf. In my story he burned his hands and eyes trying to fight the fire caused by the kamikaze attack. He was one of the 22 men believed to have perished in the sinking, but was instead rescued by one of the Japanese ships nearby and taken to a concentration camp._ Source: Brown, David. " _Warships Losses of World War Two."_ Arms and Armour, London, Great Britain, 1990.


	12. Chapter 12

_Daryl and Merle size each other up; Carol's homecoming dinner with Maggie, Glenn and the Dixons brings home some truths that might mar her reunion with Daryl._

 _Terms:_ _flop_ : bed, usually a temporary situation in a cheaper hotel; _hooch:_ liquor, especially illicit moonshine or bootleg alcohol

* * *

Carol had a week's leave before she had to report back to duty when the Hope would be shipping back out to first Hawaii and then the Pacific theater. Something big was in the offing, perhaps the final push to take the island of Japan itself, because all of the hospital ships she knew about through contacts with other nurses with whom she'd gone through training were being ordered there in the first week of August.

Merle and Johnny had free housing at the Presidio, the big military base in San Francisco, during the separation from service paperwork and the follow up medical care both of them required before they could leave. It could take up to a week or more depending on the complication that had arisen with Daryl and Merle's reunion.

As far as the Navy was concerned, Chief Petty Officer Merlin Dixon had been dead since November of the previous year. His hands had been burned too badly for a finger print ID to be possible so to prove he was who Daryl said he was they needed some other proof. The problem was that their original birth certificates and the few family photos they'd had were burned in the fire that had killed their mother years ago. The certificate copies they were issued to join the service didn't have the original footprints. Merle's copy of the one photograph of the brothers together in uniform, which was taken right before they shipped out, had gone down with his ship and Daryl kept his in a safe deposit box in Atlanta. They'd called the bank and then Hershel and asked him to get it and send it as soon as possible.

In the mean time, the group headed for a welcome home dinner that Daryl had reserved at the bayside restaurant near the hotel where he and Carol had stayed before she'd left for the Pacific. With Glenn, Maggie, Merle and Johnny along it wasn't quite the romantic candle lit tête a tête that Daryl had envisioned, but it was with family, _his_ family, the only reason he could justify delaying his long awaited reunion with his wife.

At the dock, Merle and Johnny's duffels had been sent along to the Presidio medical barracks and then they all took cabs to the hotel. Maggie and Carol went up to the rooms to freshen up and change for dinner while the men waited in the bar.

Still on pain meds, Merle wasn't really supposed to drink, but since there were no medical personnel present to stop him, he downed two shots in quick succession, which gave his eyes a glazed sharp mean look that Daryl recognized from his childhood. They were his daddy's eyes.

"So how'd you meet her?" Merle asked, using a tilt of his chin to signal the bartender to refill his glass and pour one for Daryl as well.

"At a dance." Daryl said evenly, picking up the shot, taking the unspoken challenge, and downing it. "USO; she volunteered."

"Back there in Atlanta?" Merle nodded, smiling slyly and curving the fingers of his left hand around the shot glass, "Found ya self a sweet little Georgia peach...nice an' _juicy_..."

Daryl narrowed his eyes, bristling at the less than respectful tone of his brother's description of Carol.

"I think you've had enough." He said, and then motioned the bartender over, "Cup a' Joe—all around, black."

Looking uncomfortable with the turn in the conversation, Glenn and Johnny readily gave up their beers and accepted the coffee while Merle continued to hold on to his last shot.

"Didn't mean no disrespect, boy." Merle pursed his lips and then grinned broadly at Daryl. "Just congratulatin' you on your fine taste in women is all." And then he lifted the whisky to his lips and tipped it back, open mouthed so it burned his throat all the way down.

Just then Maggie and Carol came looking for them. Daryl watched the intensity with which Merle stared at Carol, who for her part smiled to see them both sitting together. She was so happy at their reunion it made him push down the feelings of unease the interaction with Merle had caused and smile back at her. She had changed out of her uniform into a light blue suit with a pale orange blouse that made her look delicate but vital, like an early spring flower pushing its way up through the snow.

She was beautiful.

And Daryl wasn't the only one who noticed.

* * *

"Daddy would say this is why Carol had to leave." Maggie said quietly, leaning close to Glenn as they watched Daryl, who was leaning back in his chair on the other side of the table, his arm around Carol's shoulders; looking at Merle telling a bawdy story about trying to convince the Johnny to sneak into the nurses' shower room on board ship.

"So she could find Merle?" Glenn whispered back, and Maggie nodded.

"Part of God's plan." Maggie smiled, "From the moment she and Daryl met."

They watched as Carol rested the back of her head on Daryl's arm, smiling contentedly, watching Merle and Johnny with half closed eyes.

"Some things are just meant to be." Glenn agreed, and Maggie turned to him with a slow smile, raising her face to his for a sweet kiss.

"I hope your parents think so." Maggie said, sounding a bit resigned for them not to.

"They're going to love you. I wrote and told them all about you, your dad, the farm—Atlanta—it's a new start, for all of us." Glenn said, quietly adamant. "We need this."

"I'm not Korean." Maggie said, finally coming out and stating her biggest worry about meeting his parents and sisters. She looked like the people who had sentenced them to imprisonment for how _they_ looked; how could they help but resent her for taking their son away from them?

"You just cotton to that now, sis?" Merle drawled, indicating that Maggie had spoken louder than she intended to, letting everyone at the table in on she and Glenn's conversation.

"She's worried about meeting the in-laws." Glenn explained, pressing a reassuring kiss to Maggie's temple.

"They'll love you." Carol assured Maggie, sitting up straight and leaning forward to address her, "You're smart and kind; you love their son and you're bringing their grandchild into this world. That's usually a big hit with in-laws."

"A baby?" Johnny said, staring wide eyed at Maggie. "I apologize for thinkin' I thought you was just fat Mizz Maggie!"

"No, there's a baby in there, John." Maggie chuckled, her hand going to her abdomen's slight rise.

"How come you didn't put a bun in Peach's oven too, baby bro?" Merle asked, giving Daryl a narrow eyed look, "Keep _her_ here on shore like your boy Glenn did _his_ woman?"

"You best be glad I didn't, or I might never a' found _your_ ass." Daryl told his brother dryly.

"Well, now, that's true enough..." Merle said, his voice trailing off. "I don't rightly know if I'd have made it back here, wasn't for her..." and then he gave Carol such an unguarded look of adoration that it made Daryl wonder what exactly had happened between them on the ship, a tiny wedge of the same insecurity that he'd felt growing up in Merle's shadow trying to push its way between Carol and him. Big brother was always the smooth talker that the girls wanted to be with... Daryl was the shy awkward kid stumbling over his words if he could even work up the guts to speak to a gal.

"You're a fighter, Merle, and stubborn as hell, just like Daryl." Carol chided, embarrassed at his praise.

"Nah, he's always been the sweet one, my baby brother..." Merle said with a grin and then a look of surprise came over his face. He glanced at Daryl, frowning as if he didn't know where that knowledge had come from, and asked, "Is'at true?"

"What you always used to say." Daryl nodded, trying to keep the hope in his voice from getting out of control. He'd been trying not to push any old memories onto Merle since Carol said that could overwhelm him. She'd had a conversation about it with the psychiatrist about what to do if the men started recovering their pasts. Slow and steady was his advice, let the memories come at their own pace.

"And so he is." Carol said, turning back to Daryl, hugging him around the neck and then leaning back to smile at him lovingly.

Daryl smiled up at her, and the kiss that followed was indeed sweet.

The pensive look on Merle's face was not.

* * *

"Tired?" Daryl asked, seeing Carol hold her hand over her mouth to hide her little yawn as they walked Merle and Johnny to the cab stand on the corner by the hotel so they could get a lift to the base.

Maggie had taken Glenn off to bed an hour ago, but Johnny had kept asking Daryl and Carol questions about everything related to Atlanta like how long it would take to get there by train, the names of everyone who lived at the Greene farm, what kinds of animals they had and every other detail he could think of. Realizing they were the last people at the restaurant, Carol apologized to the wait staff and ushered the Dixons out.

John was walking ahead of the three of them, backwards, so he could talk to them, but periodically glanced over his shoulder to make sure he didn't run in to anything on the deserted street.

"Just been a very long... very _happy_ day." Carol said with a small smile. She was walking between the other two men with her right arm linked through Merle's left one and Daryl's right on the other side.

"Not every day you find your dead brothers." Johnny said, nodding at her in agreement.

"Alive." Merle added dryly.

"If we were dead we wouldn't be walking." Johnny said, making a face at Merle.

"True enough, kid." Daryl chuckled and then signaled to call one of the waiting cabbies on the corner by raising his free hand.

Johnny tried to turn to see who Daryl was waving at and tripped over his own feet, starting to fall backwards, forcing Daryl to let go of Carol and jump forward to grab him.

Merle held Carol in place, keeping her from moving along with Daryl to help. He pulled her closer and bent his lips to her ear.

" _I may only look like half a man, but I still love you with everything I got, Peach."_ he rasped and then quickly released her, moving to Daryl's side.

Carol stood still and looked heartsick.

"You okay dumbass?" Merle chided Johnny, "Don't need to scramble yer eggs any worse than they already are!"

"Fell on his ass, not his head." Daryl said with a snort, helping the younger man to stand.

Johnny looked sheepish and Daryl grinned over at Carol, but her troubled look made him frown.

"He's okay," Daryl assured her, thinking that was what she was worried about.

"I'm okay." Johnny echoed, blushing as Daryl dusted him off.

"Good—I'm glad..." Caryl said, giving him a little smile even while her forehead stayed crinkled into a frown.

Daryl frowned back at her, tilting his head questioningly, but she gave a little shake of her head, indicating now was not the time to discuss whatever was bothering her.

"Best get him back to our flop for the next few nights." Merle said evenly, breaking the couple's focus on one another.

"We'll see you in the morning." Daryl said, holding out his left hand for Merle to shake.

"Have a good night!" Johnny said brightly, his look including both Daryl and Carol.

"Yeah...sure they will..." Merle said, with a soft bitterness, taking Daryl's hand, but looking over his shoulder at Carol as he shook and released it. "Come on, Kid."

The cab driver was holding open the door and Merle ushered John through it, settling in beside him, giving Daryl a mocking salute as it pulled away from the curb.

Daryl watched the cab leave and then turned to Carol. When he saw the look on her face he held open his arms and she came into them gratefully. He felt her tears against his chest as she burrowed her head into it.

* * *

Their room wasn't the same one they had stayed in last time, but that didn't really matter to them. They were alone, together, for the first time in months. They should've been enjoying their reunion, but instead they sat on the bed together, still fully dressed except for their shoes, trying to talk about Merle.

"I should a' known if anybody could a' survived, it'd been him... _one handed_." Daryl said, sighing, looking at the far wall. "Toughest asshole I ever met, my brother."

"He was so hurt, Daryl—not just the burns—he lost who he was." Carol told him, her gaze on her ring, rubbing it with the fingers of her right hand. "He felt like he had nothing to live for."

"Except you?" Daryl asked, looking at her sideways as he plucked at the chenille bedspread with the fingers of his left hand.

When Carol didn't reply, Daryl reached over and took her left hand in his right, rubbing her ring with his thumb.

"Before you left...we said our vows, but there wasn't a preacher there." Daryl said quietly and then hesitated before continuing haltingly, "If things are different now, if they've changed...I'll understand if you...if you don't—"

But before he could complete the sentence Carol was pulling him close, holding him tightly around the neck, her lips to his ear, saying over and over _, "I love you, I love you..."_

Daryl's held breath became a relieved sigh and then she held his face and they looked into each other's eyes as they kissed, renewing those vows without a word.

"You'd really do that, wouldn't you?" Carol asked, staring up at him, pushing his long bangs back off his face and frowning at him, "You love him that much."

"Both of you. If that's what it took for you to be happy...if you'd have loved him..." Daryl nodded.

"He's in love with me." Carol said, not with pride or malice, just a simple statement of fact.

"Guess I can understand that." Daryl gave her a shy grin back. "You saved him..."

"It happens sometimes; in nursing we spend so much time with the men as their only contact with the world. They get dependent on us for emotional as well as medical support." Carol said and rested her head on Daryl's shoulder as she continued. "Working on the ship—you see so much horror—maimed bodies and souls, the dying who just want to last long enough to see their momma or wife and baby, you hear about the conditions the prisoners were kept under, the torture they endured, the losses..."

"Are _you_ okay?" Daryl asked, wondering how this experience had and would continue to effect and change her.

"Gotta be." Carol responded, but it felt like a pat answer, her smile tight and not reaching her eyes. Sensing his dubiousness she looked away.

"Hey—it's _me_." Daryl said softly, taking her chin in his hand and tilting her face up to look into her eyes, "You don't gotta hide from _me_."

Carol's lips trembled and then slid into a slow small smile.

"I know." she told him.

Daryl leaned forward and brushed a kiss to her cheek.

"I don't want to hurt him, Daryl. I knew he was getting too attached. Even before I knew he was your brother I knew it would be hard for him, seeing us together, seeing how you and I feel about each other." Carol fretted. "The last thing I want to do is come between you two."

"We'll figure it out." Daryl assured her, "We're family."

"To him you're a stranger, Daryl—one who has what he wants." Carol warned. "From what I've learned about him over the last few weeks, Merle doesn't strike me as the kind of man who gives up very easily on what he wants."

"Neither am I." Daryl said, raising an eyebrow at her. "So, long as I know it's _me_ you want, he's shit outa luck."

" _It's you I want."_ Carol said, the dimple in her cheek and the throaty whisper changing the conversation in just those few words.

" _That right?"_ Daryl's slow smile matched hers.

Carol nodded, sliding closer; close enough for him to nip at her neck and nudge aside her collar with the side of his face. She shivered, unused to the rasp of his new chin whiskers.

" _Sorry."_ Daryl murmured, kissing her neck to gentle her, moving his hands to pull at the pins holding her hair up in its tight proper style.

"I kind of like it." Carol said, making him chuckle and rub his cheek against hers. She put her hands on his chest, warming them on his body heat and then sliding them up to loosen his necktie.

Daryl took over, removing the tie and starting on the buttons of his shirt, fumbling a bit in his hurry while she smiled at him indulgently and shook out her hair, running her fingers through it to loosen the curls he loved. Longer now, it fell down over her shoulders in a russet cascade, arresting his attention. Mouth open, Daryl raised his right hand to curve his fingers through the soft wavy strands, tightening them to draw her closer.

" _I missed you so much..."_ he said, nuzzling into her softness, brushing kisses to her ear, neck and throat while reaching down and tugging her blouse out of the waist of her skirt so he could smooth his hands over her skin, but finding the silk of her slip instead and making a frustrated noise.

Carol smirked at him, lying back on the pillows and looking up at him as he lifted his head and frowned at her.

"You got _way_ too many clothes on..." Daryl muttered, going up on his knees and quickly finishing the removal of his own shirt and undershirt so he could start on hers.

Carol's breath caught a little—she was around men all day every day on board ship, seeing them in various stages of undress as she tended to their wounds—but none of them gave her the thrill that looking at Daryl could. He had the broadest shoulders, but they tapered in a perfect V to his narrow waist, the line of muscle leading from his abs to his sex even more prominent now with the tan that working long hours outdoors on the farm had given him. He wasn't muscle bound like some of the soldiers and sailors who spent their off hours lifting weights in the gym, but his arms were well defined, sculpted into the perfect curves of his biceps bulging as he lifted his undershirt over his head and off.

She sat up and onto her knees, staring at him, waiting.

Daryl came forward, close enough to touch her, and worked the buttons of her melon orange blouse, sliding it off her shoulders and off onto the floor with his shirt. He came even closer, reaching around her waist, looking for the zipper of her skirt, finding it on the side and lowering it slowly.

Carol raised her arms and Daryl went to the hem of her skirt, lifting it and the offending slip up and off over her head, leaving her in a white lace bra and panties.

Daryl made a noise low in his throat—the softness of her, the delicate sprinkling of freckles, her pale skin—all of it was revealed to him, all the dreams he'd had and the nightmares too, all his fears of losing her suddenly rushing in and he pulled her to his chest, fitting her to him, kissing the top of her head and just rocking her, needing to know she was there and real and his.

Carol let herself relax against him, the steady beat of his heart against her ear soothing her. When he stretched out, lying down onto the bed, bringing her with him, she put her arms around him, her fingers tracing the line of his spine, sighing at his warmth and strength. When she reached the beltline of his trousers she let her hands wander lower and felt a different kind of warmth suffuse her.

Daryl sucked in a breath, suddenly very aware that she had her hands on his ass, _caressing it,_ the rush of blood to his dick making him groan and rock against her. Her mouth moved to his collar bone and he felt the soft scratch of the lace cups of her bra against his chest. His hands quickly found his belt buckle and trouser fly buttons, pulling away from her momentarily to shuck them and his boxers off and then settling back against her.

Carol returned her hands to smoothing over his behind, moaning when she felt his rock solid hardness push against her belly in response to her touch.

Daryl gently pushed her back onto the pillows and lowered his head to kiss her neck while he slid her bra straps off her shoulders and her arms until he could draw the cups down off her breasts, the rosy peaks bouncing up when released, her flesh goose pimpling in the night air. He continued to kiss down her throat as his hands closed over them, cradling their weight against his palms and then pinching each nipple between his fingers. At her little noise of pleasure he lowered his mouth to the right, sucking it in and teasing it with his teeth and tongue, the delicious soft suction and rasp of his chin whiskers against the pillowy softness bringing her hands to hold his head more tightly to her.

Her scent, her skin, the way she moaned his name as she arched her back and writhed against him, urging him to continue, dazed him with desire. Needing more of her, he found the front release and removed her bra and then used his tongue to lick and taste and suck at her breasts even while he skimmed his hands down over her belly to the lace covered apex of her thighs.

" _Still too many clothes."_ Daryl muttered, his fingers tracing the cleft at her center, feeling her wet heat under the scrap of cloth remaining between them. _"Though this is pretty..."_

"I wore them for you." Carol said, her breath coming much more quickly.

He began to rub her in slow circles and she moaned and tugged on his hair, her thighs opening to his assured touch. He knew her, what she liked, what she needed...

"You were thinkin' a' me when you got dressed this mornin'?" he asked her, running his index finger back and forth across the lace.

"Thinking of you taking them off of me." Carol told him with a sly expectant smile.

" _There's_ my vixen..." he chuckled, doing just that, sliding them down and off. His task done, he moved back between her legs, drawing them apart.

" _Daryl."_ she sighed when he brushed his thumbs across the curls, opening her, bending over her.

"I dream of this...of you..." he breathed against her.

" _God... oh god..."_ Carol gave a high pitched cry at the intimate kiss, his tongue spearing deep, lapping at her, his biceps under her thighs pressing her into the bed, lifting her knees over his shoulders, tipping her back so he could give her what he wanted her to have.

The orgasm was quick and bright—followed by two more until she felt boneless. He kissed her thighs and belly then lay down beside her while they both got their breath back.

"I like the whiskers." Carol said with a grin, turning onto her left side to look at him, raising her left hand to his chin and scratching against the sandy little patch of scruff.

"Glad to hear it," he said, grinning back, "That's as good as it gets—never could grow much of a beard."

Carol ran her fingers down his chin to his neck and then his chest. She thought he had just the right amount of hair there too, just a light sprinkling and then the line down his center to his belly button and below. She continued to follow it, making his eyebrow quirk up at her and his abs twitch as she circled his navel, almost tickling lightly.

Daryl held his breath as she moved closer, her heavy fall of hair brushing against his hip just as her hand closed over his erection, the mass of curls blocking his view. When he felt her soft lips press a series of kisses down the shaft, he half sat up in surprise, his hand pushing under the hair at her nape to stop her.

" _Carol?"_ he choked out.

"You don't like it?" she asked, turning her head to look up at him, pushing her hair back off her face, the blush of embarrassment tinting her cheeks.

" _Shit yes_ I like it—but you don't have to—I mean you haven't ever—I mean..." he stared at her, looking perplexed but incredibly aroused.

"I know I don't have to...I _want_ to. I mean, I sort of learned some things on the ship...and I wanted to try them on you..." Carol said slowly.

"You _learned_ some things?" Daryl asked in that same choked voice, releasing his hold on her so she could sit up.

"Men aren't the only ones who talk about ... _things_..." Carol told him, gesturing to his erection and pouting slightly with indignation. She hadn't expected the Inquisition when all she was trying to do was do something that she thought he'd like.

" _Sex_ things?" Daryl asked, frowning up at her, his face flushing in a blush that mirrored hers. "You and the other women on the ship talk about _sex things_?" He'd expected it from the women at the cat house where he'd grown up, but the idea of women like Carol, educated high class women, _professional_ women talking about such things surprised the hell out of him.

"Nurses are women, Daryl; we're on board a ship with over a thousand men. You didn't think the topic of sex would come up?" Carol asked him gently, becoming aware he was having a hard time imagining that proper _ladies_ would dare such a thing.

"Some of the nurses... uh... went with the men?" Daryl asked, reevaluating his thoughts about them all being saintly Florence Nightingales like his Carol...

"Some." Carol nodded, and then added matter of factly, "Some of them were with other nurses too."

" _Huh."_ Daryl blinked at her. Was this the same woman who had been so scandalized when he'd brought up the same kind of thing in relation to the girls at Deanna's House?

"My friend Tara—she'd sneak in some hooch and we'd all sit up and have quite illuminating discussions on the topic." Carol giggled, "She said she wanted to shake your hand to thank you on my behalf for knowing how to do what you just did and doing it so well."

"Glad to hear I'm on the lesbian approved list." Daryl responded dryly.

"Definitely." Carol smiled.

"And these discussions are also where you heard about...?" he asked leadingly, reaching up and taking her hands in his and bringing them to rest open palmed on his abs to either side of his navel.

"Ways to keep a man happy but not to get pregnant..." Carol said tartly, "Not everyone always has access to your little tins of Merry Widows out at sea."

"Very true." Daryl nodded, "But you know, just feeling your hands on me makes me happy—if you're not comfortable with anything more, it's all right." He ran his fingers feather light up and down her forearms making her shiver.

"I love all of you." Carol told him, taking a deep breath, lowering her chin and staring into his eyes, her face framed by the riot of curls.

He reached up and pushed the hair falling in her face on the right side back behind her ear and then nodded at her, silently agreeing to what she was asking him.

Carol's hands went back to him, curling her fingers around his stiffening length with her right hand, gliding up and down, enjoying his soft whimper.

Daryl watched her lower her head and felt her autumn locks caress his skin, saw the pink tip of her tongue pop out to lick her lips as her mouth opened, felt the light warm wet press of them as she held him in her grip. She kissed all the way down to the root and then, her eyes finding his, licked her way back up to the head in one long stroke and opened her mouth over the tip, sucking it inside and swirling her tongue.

" _Oh fuck."_ Daryl said, his dick jumping in her hand, his control teetering on the edge. It was too much. He grasped her shoulders and shook his head at her. "Carol. _Stop_... _you gotta stop_..."

Carol released him, frowning, looking worried.

"It's _too_ good, sweetheart... m'gonna come and I been waitin' months to be inside you when that happens, okay?"

"Okay." Carol smiled, relieved. She reached for the tin on the nightstand and opened it, making a show of helping him, presenting him with the prophylactic.

Condom on, he moved over her and sunk into her, his eyes on hers. She winced, just barely, but just enough to make him pause, waiting for her to relax, pulling her thighs up with his hands until her knees were at his waist, the change in position letting him go deeper, stretching her around him, his hips continuing to push forward.

Then Carol's hands went to his waist as if she was asking him to wait, biting her lower lip as she frowned up at him, tears starting to form in her eyes.

"What's wrong? Am I hurtin' you?" he asked, holding still, bracing himself above her with his hands on the bed on either side of her shoulders.

"I was so afraid...when I was out there... that we'd never have this again... that this, that _you_ had all been a dream..." Carol said, reaching up with her right hand to touch his face, her fingertips tracing his lips. "I love you so much—more than I thought I ever could love any one again—and... and it's..."

"And it's scary as hell." Daryl said, kissing her fingers. "To love someone so much."

Carol nodded at him tearfully; she knew he'd understand. She let her hand side down the column of his neck to rest at his throat, feeling his rapid breaths, the beat of his heart, strong and reassuring.

Continuing to look deep into her eyes, Daryl began to move in slow shallow thrusts, setting an easy rhythm, watching her eyes widen as he went deeper, feeling her hands go to his shoulders to hold him closer so that their bodies were pressed against one another from chest to hip as he moved.

Wrapping his powerful arms around her he lifted her with him as he shifted position, rolling to the side and then onto his back so that she was above him, her hair falling in a thick a curtain around their faces. Holding her close he kissed her and then pushed her up so she was half sitting astride him. His hands came up to palm her breasts, supporting her above him until she grasped his biceps and anchored herself there, using the hold to pull herself forward, almost completely free of him and then pushed her hips back down onto him just as he thrust his hips forward.

Their matching exhalations of surprise and pleasure co-mingled and made them decide to try that again...and again... reacquainting them both with what it meant to be together in every way.

* * *

Managing Merle is going to be an interesting task when they return to Georgia...

 _ **Historical Notes:**_ _ **1905**_ _ **saw**_ _the use of fingerprints for the U.S. Army. Two years later the U.S. Navy started, and was joined the next year by the Marine Corp. In the first years of WWII Navy dog tags had an acid etched imprint of the thumbprint of each sailor on the back of them, but the practice was discontinued in 1944. During the next 25 years more and more law enforcement agencies join in the use of fingerprints as a means of personal identification. Many of these agencies began sending copies of their fingerprint cards to the National Bureau of Criminal Identification, which was established by the International Association of Police Chiefs. Source: usmarshals dot gov_

 _(Weird fingerprint fact: koala bears also have fingerprints!)_


	13. Chapter 13

_A surprising turn of events for Carol and the Dixons may alter one of their futures; Glenn and Maggie try to come to terms with what it will mean for them to make a family in light of everything that happened during the War._

Terms:  
 _Dixie-cup, squid lid, dog dish ,_ or _Mason jar top_ _:_ The white canvas sailors hat that has appeared and reappeared in the Navy as part of the uniform since it was first written into the uniform regulations of 1886.  Source: Hensgen, Marke A. "To Cap It All Off… A Fond Look at a Navy Trademark: Uses (and Abuses) of the 'Dixie Cup.'" _All Hands_ 860 (November 1988): 33-35. _Bedpan Commando, Blister Mechanic_ : Medical corpsman  
 _Become a Gold Star in Mom's Window_ _:_ A gentle way of saying killed in action.  
 _KIA_ _:_ Killed in Action  
 _Give It the Deep Six_ _:_ Forget it; keep it a secret. From older naval slang for burial at sea, which was known as "the deep six," probably from the custom of burying people six feet underground.  
 _O.A.O_ _._ : One-and-only, sweetheart or spouse  
 _Saltwater cowboy:_ Marine  
 _belly cousin:_ A man who has slept with a woman you slept with.  
 _short arm:_ penis  
 _Borrowed Brass:_ False courage inspired by drugs or drink. _Variations_ : Bought Guts; Drugstore Nerve. Source: blow-it-out-your-barracks-bag-wwii-slang-from-the-front

Master Chiefs were given their own space on ships. Referred to as the "Chief's Mess," it is off-limits to anyone else (officer or enlisted) without invitation and is affectionately called the _"Goat Locker."_ It was known to be stocked with the best liquor on board or on base.

* * *

"We also have the results from John Doe Number Six's fingerprint analysis." The secretary, a young woman whose name tag read Holly, said, smiling expectantly at Carol, Daryl and Merle. "I understand he's returning to Atlanta with you?"

"Results?" Daryl asked, looking puzzled. Their next stop after this office was to pick up the young soldier who was undergoing more tests, this time in the psychology area of the complex. The doctors there hoped that there was a possibility that the amnesia and not permanent brain damage was responsible for the "resetting" of Johnny back to a mental age of a preadolescent and that he could, in effect, relearn the education and skills he had lost over time.

They'd come to the Personnel Support Office today to start the formal paperwork necessary to have Merle declared alive, which first meant getting a copy of his service record and death certificate. In the mean time the U.S. Government seemed to have already decided he was who Daryl said he was. He'd already been issued a uniform commensurate with his Master Chief Petty Officer rank and the Navy had a small ceremony this morning that they'd attended, awarding him the medals he had earned during his attempt to put out the fire on board the Abner Read after it had been attacked. He now wore ribbons for a Purple Heart and a Silver Star on his uniform. Daryl was also dressed in his Marine dress uniform which both he and Glenn had worn on the train in case the latter got hassled.

The Navy was also paying for his rehab, which included the prosthetic he'd been fitted for three days ago. The appointment had gone just as well as Carol had expected, which meant not well at all.

Merle had little use for the heavy thing with a carved wooden hand, called a "B.E." which stood for "below elbow trans-radial prosthesis," held on by an uncomfortable looking shoulder harness. He said he'd just as soon have a bayonet fixed to the end of it so at least he could stab anyone that pissed him off. He wore it mostly hidden under his dark blue uniform jacket, the seven gold stripes he wore on the left sleeve as a M.C.P.O. distracting one's eye from the stiff false hand protruding from the right.

"They sent all of the prints of the men who...the John Does on the ship... to the central military database in D.C. hoping to get a match." Carol explained. That had been one of the first things she'd made sure was put in the outgoing classified mail when they had reached Hawaii two weeks ago.

"It takes some time to go through all of the thousands of records by hand." Holly told them, "But it's worth it when we get a positive match."

"You found his?" Carol asked, surprised. They'd been told it could take weeks and even then the soldiers might not have any family to speak of.

Holly pulled out a file folder and opened it to show them the service record of Navy Pharmacist's Mate 2nd class Clyde Edward Nelson, from Tamarack, Minnesota. The pleasant but much more serious face of the young man they all knew as Johnny looked out at them from a snapshot picture paper clipped to the side of the folder, his dress blues matching his eyes, and his Dixie-cup cap set at a jaunty angle showing his good humor.

"Damn—the kid was a bedpan commando?" Merle exclaimed.

"He was a hospital corpsman!" Carol echoed, thinking it was a shame for him to have lost all of that medical knowledge and ability.

"Listed as MIA/KIA from the battle for Peleliu—in September of last year—he was tending the wounded and when a shell landed nearby, he took his helmet off to put over the man he was working on and was hit by shrapnel." Daryl read off the paperwork. "Their position was overrun and the body wasn't recovered..."

"You think they took him because they knew he was a corpsman?" Merle wondered. The Japanese were not known for taking captives.

"Possibly." Daryl said, shrugging. "Guess we'll never know..."

"Well, however he got there he ended up in the same ward as Merle." Carol said, looking down at the picture with a sigh. "There's just something about him that is so sweet and kind still, even with all he's been through."

"He's another lost lamb and yer a soft hearted mother hen." Merle said to Carol with a wry twist of his lips.

Daryl snorted at the mixed metaphor.

"And then _you_ decided to adopt him..."Merle rounded on his brother with a slow shake of his head back and forth.

" _Does_ he have any folks?" Daryl asked Holly, but Carol had already been continuing to read through the paperwork. "They might be happy to know they can take that gold star outa the window."

"It says his parents are deceased, but... oh my..." Carol looked up at them, her eyes wide, "But his _wife l_ ives in Minneapolis!"

"That boy is a married man?" Merle winced and then grunted, "Well _shit._ "

"He's twenty-two and had been married a year and a half when he shipped out. Oh _my_..." Carol said again, frowning and looking distressed. She looked up at Daryl, biting her lower lip to keep from starting to cry. "He's a _father_! They have a baby boy—born two months after he went missing."

Daryl put his arm around Carol's shoulders and pulled her close in to his side, resting his chin on the crown of her head.

For once Merle seemed too surprised to pull out another cutting remark from his arsenal. His mouth worked, chewing on the inside of his lower lip, deep in thought.

"So what do we do?" Daryl finally asked, sighing.

"What do you mean?" Carol replied, pulling back so she could look up at him.

"He means do we give this news the deep six or do we spill the beans." Merle said somewhat impatiently.

"Why _wouldn't_ we tell his wife he's alive?" Carol asked incredulously.

"You finally get used to the idea yer O.A.O. is gone—bury him and get on with your life—and then someone delivers him back onta yer doorstep and he's not the sharp tack hero you fell in love with—he _looks_ like him, but he just ain't _in_ there no more? An' he can't ever be what he _was_?" Merle said, "You gonna do that to some poor woman? How's he ever gonna support a family?"

Before Carol could argue with him, the secretary with whom they'd been working with spoke up.

"I'm sorry to interrupt, but it's really out of your hands," Holly said, sounding a bit distressed. "My C.O. already sent a telegram to Mrs. Nelson informing her that her husband has been found."

"I'll be in the Goat Locker." Merle grunted, glared at her and made a disgusted sound before shoving his hat on his head and striding out the door, muttering several elaborate and anatomically unlikely things he'd like to instruct her asshole of a boss to do with his telegram.

"It's standard procedure." Holly said defensively, but with a note of apology in her tone. "Do you have a local number where you can be reached when we hear back from Mrs. Nelson?"

"We'd only planed to be in San Francisco until Sunday—I ship back out then and the rest of them have tickets on the train back to Atlanta," Carol said fretfully, wondering what would happen to Johnny... _Clyde_... now that his next of kin had been found. What if it was like Merle said? Should they just expect his wife to accept what had happened to him and go on?

"She may not be able to get here before then..." Holly said dubiously.

"I'll stay with him if it comes to that." Daryl assured Carol. "Merle will be fine with Glenn and Maggie—we can change the tickets if we have to."

"Merle cooped up on a train with Maggie, Glenn and his _family_ all the way to Georgia?" Carol said with a helpless shake of her head. Merle may not remember he was a Dixon, but his intolerance for difference seemed intact.

"Okay—so maybe I'll keep Merle here too—whatever. It'll all work out, don't worry, okay?" Daryl said, taking Carol's hand in his and giving her what he hoped was a reassuring smile.

"Could you write that number down for me, please?" Holly asked again, holding a pencil and paper out to Carol and with a worried huff, she opened her purse to look for the hotel's card to copy the information down for the secretary.

"I hope Glenn and Maggie are having a better morning than we are." Carol grumbled as she thought of their frustrations.

"God, I hope so." Daryl chuckled, but from some of the things Glenn had told him about his very traditional Korean parents, he doubted it.

* * *

Maggie desperately wished that her father was with her this morning in Manzanar. Daddy always knew what to say; what to do to smooth everything over, to make people comfortable even in the most tenuous and frightening situations. She'd seen him literally talk a man away from jumping off the edge of a bridge and turn a mob away from the door of his church when they'd come to try and hang a man who'd sought sanctuary there.

Pastor Hershel Greene could deal with life and death situations that would terrify most people. Right now his daughter was praying with all she was worth for just an ounce of his abilities to help her deal with her new in-laws.

The little bit of Korean that she knew and reading the body language of the others in the room told her that after introductions and gifts had been politely, coolly exchanged, Glenn's mother had proceeded to read him the riot act about his choice of a bride. His little sisters Hannah (Rhee Ha Neul) and June (Rhee Joo-Eun) seemed to have Glenn's back, but at eleven and sixteen didn't have the real ability to challenge their mother and so were losing ground.

"English, please, Sun-hee." Dr. Rhee said to his wife with a trace of a British accent from his time in an English convent school where he had learned the language.

"If you think that will slow me down, you are a more foolish man." Glenn's mother said haughtily. "The boy must _know_ —"

"Rhee Jin-soo is a married man; a decorated veteran, not a boy any longer!" Dr. Rhee argued.

"I love Maggie." Glenn blurted before his parents could start going at it again. "I love her and I married her and that's the end of it. You can come with us to Atlanta or you can take the lousy resettlement money the government is offering you and start over somewhere else, but she is my family, my _kajok,_ now too and my life is with _her_." then he took Maggie's hand in his and stayed firm, his chin raised, his eyes clear and bright.

His sisters looked anxiously back and forth between their brother and his wife and their parents. Their time in the camp had been hard on all of them, even the two young girls who'd been forced to rein in their hopes and dreams for the future, and the prospect of losing their brother again was one they just couldn't take. A resolute Hannah got up and went to stand behind Glenn's chair and June, though starting to cry, followed her.

"We love you Umma, Appa, but we're going with Glenn and Maggie _sae-eonni_ to Atlanta." Hannah said firmly. Though much more shy and obedient, June nodded her head in solidarity with her sister, taking her hand.

Maggie teared up as well, realizing that Hannah had called her sister-in-law or literally "new older sister" in Korean. She exchanged a hopeful look with Glenn before directly engaging her mother-in-law.

"We've told you about the other Korean families in our church—you won't be isolated there—please Mrs. Kim." Maggie said quietly but with great feeling. "I want our child to know all of his or her grandparents and learn about our families' traditions from them."

" _Yeobo..."_ Dr. Rhee said gently as he watched his wife's chin quiver. "We are _kajok._ We must go with our children to this new life."

Her spine still stiff and straight as razor's edge, Glenn's mother slowly turned her head to look at Glenn and Maggie.

"We who are kajok." She said, inclining her head slightly, "We will not be parted again."

The girls hugged both Maggie and their brother, who stood to embrace them, but before they could reach their parents Mrs. Kim was up on her feet, her hands clasped tightly in front of her.

"We have much to do before we can depart." the older woman said briskly "Come girls, we must finish packing and make arrangements for the hens." They had earned a little extra money by selling eggs during their time in the camp. Travelling across the country with ten chickens would not, however, be very practical.

Before Dr. Rhee could stop her, she swept out of the small meeting room, expecting her daughters to follow. Hannah and June looked at their father, but he motioned that they should go with her. After one last kiss for Maggie and Glenn, they did, almost bouncing with happiness.

"She'll come around." Glenn told Maggie, putting his arm around her shoulders.

"I do love your optimism," Maggie sighed, leaning against him.

"It's always been one of his best qualities," Dr. Rhee smiled an eye crinkling grin so like Glenn's that it warmed Maggie's heart. "One he inherited from _me_ , I believe."

"The stubborn comes from you both." Glenn grinned back.

"We who are _kajok."_ Maggie repeated his mother's words, wrapping her arms around Glenn, "We will not be parted again."

* * *

"Permission to enter the Chief's Mess, Master Chief?" Daryl asked, saluting his brother through the half open door of the "Goat Locker" a private club space that had been set aside on base for the chiefs from the various branches to congregate and relax during their down time.

Merle sat at the bar with two other uniformed men and there were another four playing cards at a table behind them.

"You alone?" Merle asked, and Daryl nodded yes. Carol had gone to meet Johnny while Daryl took on the job of corralling Merle, something in which he was well schooled.

"You drinkin' with me?" Merle asked.

Daryl nodded yes again and Merle motioned him inside, which Daryl did, closing the door behind him.

The bartender brought Merle another glass and he poured two fingers out for Daryl who came and sat beside him.

"And who's this Saltwater cowboy?" another Chief asked, giving Daryl the fish-eye. The man was younger than Merle, with only three stripes on his sleeve. Daryl recognized him from the ceremony this morning. He must've been the one who'd invited Merle to the Mess.

"Well now Chief Monroe, this clean Marine here tells me he's my brother." Merle drawled, raising his glass in a mocking salute and then draining it, "but the dirty son of a bitch stole my girl."

"Sounds more like your belly cousins then." the other chief said mockingly, making Daryl bristle.

"Where is our sweet Peach anyhow, baby brother?" Merle made a show of looking around, "You park her outside somewhere? Best not to leave one that ripe out for the pickin'."

"For someone who claims to be in love with her, you don't seem to think she's much of a lady." Daryl gritted out, ignoring the temptation to just down the Scotch and take a swing at his bastard of a brother.

"Now hold on there, son." Merle said, sounding affronted but slurring his words a bit, "I respect the hell outa Carol! I respect how she made me lay awake every night on that god damn boat imaginin' what it'd be like to have a wedge a' her sweet juicy warm just outa the oven peach pie burst on my tongue or what it'd feel like around me when I'as like to slide my short arm right on into her sweet juicy warm —"

"God damn you, Merle! You and your borrowed brass!" Daryl exploded, sliding back off the bar stool and standing, shaking his head furiously. "You just cannot talk about her like that—she's mine! We love each other and we're gettin' married soon as her tour is over. You're just gonna have to deal with that fact!"

"Don't matter none." Merle said, giving a short cackle of a laugh and fishing in his jacket pocket for something, slamming it on the bar and then picking up and drinking the shot that had been poured for Daryl. "Don't think I'll be around to attend the ceremony." Then his eyes seemed to lose focus and he swayed on his stool until he lost his balance and fell backwards.

Daryl rushed forward and caught him, lowering him to the floor, the hollow sound of his wooden hand hitting the tiles echoing in the suddenly still room.

"Oh shit." Chief Monroe swore, and Daryl looked up to see that the man held a pill bottle in his hand. It was the pain killers, the new bottle that Merle had just had filled yesterday. It was empty.

"You stupid son of a bitch." Daryl muttered, feeling for a pulse and yelling, "Call a medic!" as he loosened Merle's collar.

"Fuck that—we're in a hospital—call a doctor!" Monroe yelled more loudly, coming off his stool to help.

* * *

 _Notes:_ _A trans-radial prosthesis is an artificial limb that replaces an arm missing below the elbow. Cable operated limbs work by attaching a harness and cable around the opposite shoulder of the damaged arm. In the prosthetic industry a trans-radial prosthetic arm is often referred to as a "BE" or "below elbow" prosthesis._

 _A common cultural belief - one held during various periods throughout history - is that a person who loses a limb during his or her time on Earth will remain limbless in the afterlife. To avoid this fate, amputated limbs were commonly saved for later burial along with the rest of the body._ Source: "How Stuff Works" .

 _Billie Jane Randolph, VA's deputy chief consultant for PSAS, speaks of the therapist's perspective: "As therapists, we say that when someone loses a lower extremity, they lose their mobility. When they lose their upper extremity, they lose their independence," she said. "The goal is to restore their patients' function as much as possible and to help them regain as much independence in their lives as they can."_ _Source:_ _McAleer, James. "_ _Mobility redux: Post-World War II prosthetic and functional aids for veterans, 1945 to 2010." Journal of Rehabilitation Research & Development. __Vol. 48:2, 2011._

 _Clyde Edward Nelson is a real MN WWII vet. I borrowed his name and some bio details to give to my OC "Johnny"_

Korean names: In Korean the _kajok_ (family) name comes first and then the personal name. Korean women don't give up their maiden name. Glenn's mother's name in Korean is Kim Sun-hee, not Mrs. Rhee, since she is from the Kim family. Glenn and his sisters have their father's family surname, but Maggie and he used American tradition and she took his last name. Family relationships and terminology are complex and specific in Korea—if you want to know more, take a look at these web articles from "The Talking Cupboard," and Korean-family-and-kinship-terms

 _Ha Neul_ = spread your dreams high like the sky  
 _Joo-Eun_ = silver pearl  
 _Sun-hee_ = goodness  & pleasure  
 _Jin-soo_ = bright  & precious  
 _Umma_ = mom _Appa_ = dad  
 _sae-eonni_ = Older brother's wife; literally means 'new older sister'  
 _yeobo_ = honey; term of endearment between spouses

Thanks for reading. And yes, Chief Monroe is Paul Monroe, aka "Jesus" from _TWD._


	14. Chapter 14

_The aftermath of Merle's actions in the previous chapter is felt as Carol and Daryl try and figure out how to help someone who doesn't want to be helped._

* * *

Vocabulary Notes:  
 _doll_ : pretty woman  
 _gams_ : legs  
 _rack_ : breasts  
 _sinkers_ : donuts _Variation_ : pep tire  
 _Beat Your Gums:_ To talk a lot about something. _Variations_ : Gumming; Jawing; Chin Music.  
 _Devil Beater:_ Chaplain, _Variation:_ GI Jesus, padre, sin buster, sky scout, soul aviator  
Mud: coffee _Variations_ : java, cup a'Joe  
 _Side Arms:_ Cream and sugar for coffee  
 _Swacked:_ Intoxicated  
 _BTO:_ Big Time Operator — someone who thinks he's important

 _Source:_ wwii slang on "the art of manliness" web site

* * *

Merle Dixon hurt.

All _over._

His belly—he felt like he'd been kicked there by not just one mule, but a full twenty hitch mule team that had then tore up his throat and stomped his head. His chest was on fire, the tentative breath he took told him his ribs were taped around his breastbone.

His sand filled eyes hurt too, but he needed to try and open them to see where the _hell_ he was. He gave a rusty laugh, wondering if he'd finally made it. He'd heard tell the road to there was paved with good intentions.

And that's exactly what they'd been, his reasons for doing it. He'd seen how it was with his brother and the Peach. They were as much in love as he'd ever seen a body be—stupid kind that glows out and thinks it can rub off on everyone around'em, make the world a better place, a 'help the helpless' kinda love. They'd take him in, waste their lives fussin' over his sorry hopeless ass when they should be starting their life together, makin' babies, and not taking care of one arm, one eye sad sack shoulda died when his ship went down.

He opened his one good peeper and there she was, his Peach... no, he had to get that fuckin' dream _outa_ his head right now, she was his baby bro's woman. That thought made him laugh, a choked dry sound that sent him into a coughing fit when it caught in his stomach acid damaged throat.

Carol swiftly moved to his side, helping him sit up and holding a glass of water to his lips.

"Slowly—swallow a little bit at a time—that's it," she soothed; her right arm around his shoulders, holding the glass with her left hand. She waited until he lifted his lips from the rim and took a breath before she lowered the water and set it back down on the stand next to the bed. She kept her arm around him, steadying him, waiting him out.

Merle didn't look at her, his body stiff and unyielding.

"Your heart stopped— they cracked a rib starting it again—they pumped your stomach, that's why your throat hurts." Carol said in what Merle knew was her controlled nurse voice. He'd heard her use it plenty of times on board ship to talk to the others. When she spoke next though, she was _angry._

" _Do you know how much you hurt him?"_

Merle shrugged out of her hold and Carol sat back in the chair next to the bed. He saw his new "arm" was hanging from the back of a second chair, the hand palm up on the seat as if hoping she'd park her fine ass on it instead. The thought made him give a little snort.

"He still wants to take you back to Atlanta; thinks he can save you." she said quietly, her tone skeptical. "Personally I don't think you care about anyone but yourself, but he wants his brother back." Carol stood then, looking down at him coolly, "But Merle? You screw this up? Mess with Daryl? You're _out_ of our lives. Don't underestimate me." then she left the room, her head held high.

"That's one thing I'd never do, darlin'" Merle whispered as he watched her fine ass walk out the door, which she left open, feeling swacked just from lookin' at her. Then he saw the Korean kid, Glenn standing there and she stopped to say something to him and then continued down the hall. Frowning, the kid came into the room and took Carol's place on the chair.

Merle reached behind him and grabbed his pillows, punching them up and back against the headboard so he didn't have to lie flat and then looked sullenly over at the kid.

"Welcome back, dumbass." Glenn said dryly and then grabbed a _Yank_ magazine off the nightstand and opened it, ignoring Merle.

"You my babysitter, Charlie Chan?" Merle grated out and then drawled nastily, "Last one was a _whole_ shitload prettier—where's your tasty little wife?"

Glenn ignored him and kept reading the magazine.

"Be that way." Merle grunted. "No skin off my nose."

"Charlie Chan's _Chinese_." Glenn said from behind the screen of the magazine. "I'm _Korean_."

"Whatever." Merle mumbled, lifting his hand to try and reach the glass of water, but it was on the right side of the bed, He tried awkwardly reaching across his body for it, but gasped at the pain the movement gave his taped ribs and fell back, closing his eyes and clutching at his chest.

There was a rustling noise and he felt a gentle hand on his shoulder and then the cool glass was pressed against his hand.

"Here." Glenn said.

Merle opened his eyes and saw the younger man leaning over him so he could help him take a drink. Glenn helped Merle fit his scarred fingers around the glass carefully instead of just lifting it to his lips the way Carol had done. He spilled about half of it down his front, but was able to take a few swallows before handing it back with a curt nod of thanks.

"No one's going to coddle you on the farm, Merle." Glenn told him, putting the glass back on the nightstand and picking up the magazine. "You're going to have to contribute. We all have shit to deal with from being over there, but we made it back. We got one up on the poor dumb dead bastards who didn't."

He settled back into the chair and back to reading his magazine.

Merle stared at the photo on the April 6, 1945 cover: a beautiful smiling woman in military dress wearing a helmet... the tag line said, _Army Nurse_...

 _Carol_ was going back into it.

And he and Daryl were going back to Georgia to play at being farmers with the Koreans and the Irish.

 _Welcome back, dumbass._

* * *

"He's awake." As she walked past her Carol told the nurse on call, who nodded and lifted the telephone in front of her to place a call to the doctor in charge of Merle's case. Then Carol continued to the waiting room where Daryl sat, head leaning back on the wall, eyes closed, on a straight back wooden bench.

Johnny was curled up next to him, asleep with his head on Daryl's thigh. Maggie and the Rhees had gone back to the hotel, but Glenn had volunteered to stay and help out with whatever Daryl needed.

They'd been taking turns watching over both Johnny and Merle. The former had fought when Daryl had told him he couldn't go in to see his brother until he woke up and then he'd cried himself to sleep with worry.

Carol came close and leaned over Daryl, brushing his hair back off his forehead, placing a soft kiss to his temple and then did the same to Johnny as Daryl stirred and opened his eyes.

When he saw she was smiling Daryl settled back, trying not to wake the younger man.

"He's out of the woods." Carol told him softly and he took her hand and pulled her down to perch on the arm of the bench. She put her arms around his tightly bunched shoulders as he murmured " _thank god_ " and buried his face in her chest and she held him close.

"He say why he did it?" Daryl asked when she leaned back to look at him.

Carol nodded her head no, seeing that the lines bracketing his mouth had gotten deeper, the dark circles under his eyes more prominent from the almost sleepless night of worry.

"He's comin' back with me." Daryl said stubbornly, "Not leaving him here or lettin' him loose so he can try it again."

"I know... so does he." Carol told him, leaning back in to rest her forehead on his, "But if he really wants to, you won't be able to stop him."

" _Just got him back..."_ Daryl whispered, swallowing hard.

" _He_ has to decide to live, Daryl." She replied, her own confession to him about her original reasons for enlisting at the forefront of both of their minds. When your pain was so overwhelming, whether physical or emotional or both, finding a way to end it seemed a viable alternative to many people.

Daryl pulled away, a hopeless look in his eyes. His momma had left him; decided she'd be better off dead than stay with him. Burned herself up in a fire to escape the hell her world had become. Merle had that same fatalistic streak that the depravities of war had mined down to in him. He'd decided that Daryl would be better off without him too.

"My job to keep him alive 'til he does then." Daryl said, his jaw tight and resolute.

Carol gave him a crooked smile. She knew how stubborn he could be when he set his mind on something. Merle was going to give them all a run for their money.

Johnny stirred then, shifting away from Daryl to turn in completely the other direction so that his head was resting on the opposite side of the bench, his back curled like a comma, his ass abutting Daryl's leg now.

"And we gotta figure out what to do about the kid too." Daryl sighed, looking over at the young sailor conked out like a little kid, "His wife shows up it's gonna be a mess."

"I'm sorry." Carol said, "I never meant it to be... it was my decision to bring them to the farm..."

"You got that nursing instinct—findin' things that need your care." Daryl said, pulling her down onto his lap. "It's one of the things I love most about you."

They shared a warm look and matching smiles and then Carol found her lips with his. Her very presence calmed him, gave him hope, and made him think that together they could face anything. As he drank her in he could almost fool himself into thinking this was all some half-baked nightmare and they were really back in their room alone together, making good use of the few days they had before she had to leave on Sunday...

"Uh, sorry to interrupt, but the doctor needs to talk to Daryl now." Glenn said from the doorway, trying not to stare and look like a creeper.

Daryl stood, reluctantly setting Carol on her feet and taking her hand, but she told him to go without her. He gave her another quick kiss and left, heading for Merle's room.

"I'm thinking of heading back to the hotel, is that okay?" Glenn asked quietly, but then gestured at the sleeping young man. "Or do you need help with him?"

"Merle will have to stay here for a couple of days and we haven't heard anything from Johnny's... his wife... I don't know what to do... I suppose he could go back to the barracks, but I don't really want him to be alone now either." Carol's long night keeping vigil was starting to tell in her inability to make a decision.

"Excuse me—I was looking for the Dixons?" a voice said from the doorway. The master chief who had helped Daryl with Merle when he collapsed was standing there, looking curiously at Glenn before he turned to Carol.

"Daryl is my fiancé," Carol said, frowning at the good looking sailor. "Is there a problem?"

The chief came closer and held out his hand, shaking first hers and then Glenn's.

"Master Chief Paul Monroe—I was at the ceremony this morning and then at the Goat Locker this afternoon when... during the trouble." he shrugged a bit uncomfortably.

"I'm Carol and this is Glenn Rhee, our friend—he and Daryl served together." Carol said by way of introductions.

"How is he?" Chief Monroe asked Carol. He stood with his hat in his hand, a look of deep concern on his narrow face. He used his cover to gesture behind him and gave a nod over his shoulder. "They wouldn't tell me anything at the desk—had to sweet talk the dragon lady to even get in here."

"Awake." Carol said with a small smile. "Thank you for coming to check on Merle, Chief Monroe."

"Call me Paul." Monroe smiled back warmly. He could see why the Dixon brothers were in a lather about this doll—she had gams that wouldn't quit, bee stung lips begging to be kissed, a rack made for a man's hands to fondle and her soft blue eyes had to be just about the most beautiful he'd ever seen.

"Thank you, Paul." Carol nodded.

"Daryl around?" Monroe asked.

"He's in with Merle and the doctor now." Glenn told him, still a bit suspicious of the stranger's motives.

"Well, like I said, I was there when it happened and just wondered if there was anything I could do to help a fellow Chief or his family." Monroe said, giving Carol a friendly smile, "I'm on temporary assignment here as a personnel liaison officer between the medical corps and the taskforce preparation teams; which is a military way of saying I can get you about anything or anyone you need."

Carol and Glenn exchanged a look and then both looked over at the young man asleep on the bench before looking back at Chief Monroe.

"Would you like to have a seat, Paul?" Carol said, smiling pleasantly and gesturing to the empty chairs opposite the bench on the other side of the room.

"That would be my pleasure, Carol." Monroe nodded, smiling back, offering Carol his arm to escort her to the seats.

"Glenn, would you mind going to get us some coffee—how do you like it, Chief?" Carol asked, taking his arm.

"Black as Mississippi mud, son." Monroe told her, then looked at Glenn adding, "I wouldn't say no to a coupla sinkers either."

"No side arms for me either, Glenn." Carol reminded him.

Glenn hesitated, unsure about leaving Carol alone, but she was already moving with the Chief to sit down, the other man graciously making sure she was comfortable before seating himself next to her. Sighing, Glenn left the room, heading down the hallway, deciding he'd give Daryl a heads up before he located the hospital cafeteria.

* * *

"You are on a forty-eight hour hold _suicide_ watch, Master Chief Dixon!" the exasperated doctor said sternly, "The only reason you're _not_ in restraints is that your family has stayed with you around the clock to babysit your ass and they're all military. You either agree to see the psychiatrist or you're going to end up locked _up_ in the psych ward."

"Quit beatin' yer gums, doc, I get you." Merle groused, "Already did that dance on the ship. Didn't seem like it took."

"It's either that or a devil beater." Daryl chimed in from his position by the door, standing with his arms crossed in front of him at chest level. Neither of the Dixon brothers had ever really had much call for religion, but Daryl had been attending church with Carol before she left and had continued the habit. Seemed only right since the man giving him a home was a Pastor.

"A chaplain would be a start." The doctor agreed.

"Whatta ya got here? I get to pick my GI Jesus? Bible Beater? No dick virgin in a beanie n'long black dress tipples the communion wine a bit?" Merle said, rudely describing a Baptist minister and a Catholic priest in a cassock. "That what you got in mind, boy?"

"God _damn_ it, Merle!" Daryl snapped, dropping his arms and taking a step forward, his patience wearing thin. Merle had verbally attacked the doctor when he'd come in, accusing the hospital of keeping him prisoner and demanding to be set free. He refused to cooperate with any of the suggestions put to him that would allow the hospital to discharge him to his brother's care.

The doctor looked highly offended, his bald head flushing violently red as he stared Merle down. After taking a few deep breaths he seemed to have calmed down enough to speak.

"I understand that with your... new... _limitations_ , you have a lot of pent up anger and frustration, Dixon." The doctor said tightly, "You're lucky enough to have people who care about what happens to you—maybe you should stop pushing them away and listen to what your brother is telling you."

"He says he's my brother but I don't know him from Adam." Merle said, his mouth turned down into an ugly surly frown, "Where's Peach? Trust her more than I do this yahoo."

"Carol's out with Johnny, someone else you don't seem to care if you hurt with the stunt you pulled." Daryl told him, his eyes showing the pain of Merle's denial of their relationship.

Merle winced and looked away.

"I have other patients I need to see." The doctor finally said, breaking the uncomfortable silence. He turned to Daryl then, "If you make any headway with him let the ward nurse know and we'll proceed from there with his treatment plan. Remember, if he's left alone he'll have to have the restraints."

With that he nodded and left the room, leaving Daryl and Merle alone, but before either of them could come up with something worth saying, Glenn knocked and stuck his head in.

"Hey, Daryl? There's a swabbie out there says he knows you and Merle—name's Monroe?" Glenn said.

"A corpsman?" Daryl asked, frowning.

"No—a Chief." Glenn told him. "Says he helped you earlier today? With..." his voice trailed off as he looked over at Merle.

"That good looking asshole what was sittin' next to me?" Merle asked, his eyes narrowing, "You left him out there with Peach? _Alone_? That Romeo had wolf written all over him."

"Johnny's with them." Glenn said defensively, worried that his read on the stranger might've been right.

Merle made a derisive noise. Even if he'd have been awake the gentle giant might not understand the need to come to Carol's aid.

"Go on, get your ass out there—some BTOs making time with our girl!" He ordered Daryl, but the younger brother didn't budge.

"I trust Carol and she knows how to protect herself." Daryl said, crossing his arms again, "You're not using this to get me out of here before we decide what to do about your situation."

Merle grunted in frustration and knocked his water glass off the side table onto the floor, shattering it.

"What do you want me to do?" Glenn asked Daryl, looking back and forth between the brothers.

"You just come here to tell me that?" Daryl asked Glenn while glaring at Merle.

"No—was supposed to be getting them coffee." Glenn said, sounding tired again.

"Then get them coffee." Daryl said evenly.

* * *

 _Finally had the time and the inclination to get back to this one. Thank you to_ ghostofzanarkand _who nominated it as one of the Best of the Best on the Nine Lives site for 2015!_

Historical Notes:

 _Yank __magazine was begun in 1942 and was written by_ _enlisted rank_ _soldiers only. It was made available to the soldiers, sailors, and airmen serving overseas. It was published at facilities around the world—British, Mediterranean, Continental, and Western Pacific—for a total of 21 editions in 17 countries._ _Yank_ _was the most widely read magazine in the history of the U.S. military, achieving a worldwide circulation of more than 2.6 million. Each issue was priced from five cents to 10 cents because it was felt that if soldiers paid, they would have a higher regard for the publication. Each issue was edited in New York City and then shipped for printing around the world where staff editors added local stories. One of the most popular "morale boosters" for the men in the armed forces was the inclusion of a_ _pin-up girl_ _in each issue who was usually clad either in a bathing suit or some form of seductive attire. The pin-up girls included stage and screen stars. The last issue was published in December 1945. Source: yank magazine blogspot_

Picture of real Yank issue cover with nurse Merle sees, (who sort of resembles MMB) is 1st Lt. Elizabeth Boborcik of New Cumberland, Ohio.


	15. Chapter 15

Some people specially requested this one, so I put aside my crappy feels about this TWD season & went back to 1945...

 _Merle goes full redneck, Daryl gets poetic and Carol finds a surprise awaiting her when the USS Hope docks in Hawaii._

* * *

 _ **July 4**_ _ **th**_ _ **, 1945**_

"Uh, no _boy_. I don't think so..." Merle said, stepping between the youngest Greene daughter and the young African American man she was talking to on the steps of the front porch of the farm house.

"You have a problem with my cousin, Merle?" the firm strong voice of Michonne cut across the yard from where she and Rick were working on setting up the long line of picnic tables under the trees of the pecan grove.

"He's _your_ cousin?" Merle said dubiously. "Looks like his momma got a bit more cream in his coffee than yours."

"What the hell, Dixon?" Rick said, striding across the yard, heading straight for Merle.

" _What_ did you say 'bout my _mother_?" Noah asked, his tone low and simmering.

"You heard me, boy." Merle said, getting into Noah's face, grabbing the front of his shirt and shoving him back.

"Noah!" Beth said, grabbing for him to keep him from falling back off the steps, but he had already reached for Merle to try and stabilize himself.

Merle stumbled back, his weight carrying both Noah and Beth along with him. He threw out his hand to try and break his fall, but landed badly, snapping the long bones in his forearm with an audible sickening crack when he hit the cement of the sidewalk.

" _Fuck me!"_ Merle gasped at the nauseating stab of pain that shot up his arm, _his_ _one good arm_!

Beth had landed on top of Noah, who had turned his body to protect her. He looked dazed, and when he moved his hand to the back of his head he pulled it away bloody.

"Oh god! You're bleeding!" Beth cried, trying to sit up and help. _"Daddy! Noah's hurt!"_

"So's _Merle_ if anyone cares!" Merle bellowed, his body curling around itself as he fought down the urge to vomit up his breakfast.

Rick arrived, followed soon after by Michonne, who helped Noah and Beth get up. Rick stood over Merle, looking like he'd prefer to leave him there writhing in pain, but then with a disgusted voice he reached down and got him back up, sitting him beside Noah on the lower steps.

Hershel, Glenn and Daryl came running up from the barn and Mrs. Rhee and Patricia came out of the house looking worried.

"This is all your fault!" Beth said, taking the dishtowel Patricia handed her and pressing it to the back of Noah's head.

" _What's going on up here?"_ Hershel yelled, his voice strained from the speed he's used in getting from the barn.

"It's his brother!" Michonne pointed at Daryl accusingly.

"Merle does not work and play well with others." Rick snapped.

"That boy was bein' overly familiar with the preacher's daughter." Merle said, grimacing in pain, but totally self righteous. "I was watchin' out for her."

"Noah is my friend; I don't need you watching out for me with him!" Beth scowled back at Merle.

"If you think that boy is a proper kinda friend for you, I surely do!" Merle snapped.

"Merle, just back the hell off." Daryl said, disgusted, "What's wrong with you?"

"Broke my god damn arm." Merle said, letting the pain he was in show with the terse reply.

" _Shit."_ Daryl said, looking down at his brother cradling his good arm with his prosthesis _._ He looked over at Hershel who was examining Noah's head.

"I'll go get the car, we'd better run them both to the hospital." Hershel told Daryl with an air of resignation. "Looks like dinner will be a bit delayed—I'm sorry Patricia, Sun-hee."

"We'll keep it warm for you." Patricia said and Sun-hee nodded, tsking at Merle with disgust.

"Put a sock in it sister!" Merle snarled at the Korean woman.

"Just shut up!" Daryl growled at Merle, taking hold of his shoulder to steer him towards the car.

" _Christ!"_ Merle spat at the jolt of pain that caused.

"Lord's name, son!" Hershel chided, looking back with a measuring stare at the brothers following him.

"So he'll have a cast on one arm and that thing on his other one?" Hannah asked Glenn, watching from the porch.

"Afraid so." her big brother answered. "What's so funny?" he asked Michonne who was grinning at the thought.

"I wonder whose job it'll be to wipe Merle's ass." Michonne chuckled.

* * *

 _ **August 11, 1945**_

Carol's ship was in Hawaii when the word came through. The war was as good as won. The United States had used some new super weapon to almost totally destroy two Japanese cities: Hiroshima on the sixth and Nagasaki three days later. Negotiations were underway for the full surrender of the last of the Axis forces in the Pacific. The ship had been scheduled to depart for Midway Island, but had been put on hold waiting the outcome of the peace talks.

The sailors, soldiers and marines on board were granted three days liberty in port at Pearl Harbor and the medical personnel—the doctors, corpsmen and nurses—were permitted to join them. When she saw Chief Paul Monroe smiling up at her from the end of the gangplank, Carol surprised herself by blushing. He cut quite an attractive figure dressed in his Navy dress whites head to toe. When he saw her he'd immediately started waving and she saw that he held several colorful flower garlands that the natives called leis in his other hand.

"Thought you had a beau back in Georgia—Seven's brother wasn't it?" Tara asked archly, noticing the handsome chief trying to get her attention.

"He's just a friend..." Carol said evenly, "...of both Daryl's and mine."

"He's a ring-a-ding-ding is what he is," sighed their new friend and fellow nurse, Olivia, the full figured brunette with the cat's eye glasses who had been a last minute addition to the nursing staff after two others had resigned to get married when they'd been in San Francisco.

Carol had seen the brief look of envy on Daryl's face when she'd told him about it. She wished she felt that she could do the same; she was sure she wanted to marry him, now more than ever, but she also believed in finishing what she'd started and she had another eight months to go before her tour was up. She could help a lot of people in eight months: men like Merle or Johnny; children like the orphans flooding orphanages both in Europe and the Pacific, all innocent victims of war.

"Carol!" Paul called, his voice warm and merry.

"Is he your brother?" Olivia asked hopefully.

"He does have your eyes," Tara mused as they drew closer, walking down the gang-plank together.

The shade of blue was similar... perhaps that was what made the man decide to befriend her after he'd come to check on Merle in the hospital that day. He'd been so kind to all of them, making sure that Johnny could come back to the hotel with them and then contacting the recruiter in his hometown to approach the young man's wife to see how she was dealing with the news of his survival in such an altered state. The recruiter had given her the option of whether or not to contact him.

She had been unsure, wanting to consult her parents, minister and the doctors who had tested him before making her decision. Since it would affect her life and the life of her child so drastically, no one blamed her. In the month since Carol had shipped out she hadn't heard the outcome of the decision. While they'd been at sea the mail drop plane hadn't caught up with them.

"Aloha!" Paul said, grinning at Carol and placing one of the leis over her head and then kissing her on both cheeks. "It's so good to see you again, Carol!" he said enthusiastically, making her smile.

"You too." she said, meaning it. "Paul Monroe, these are my friends Olivia and Tara." she said, introducing them.

"Lovely to meet you, ladies." Monroe said and gallantly presented them each with a lei and the same cheek kisses, turning Olivia beet red, but Tara tilted her head to the side as if she had a better measure of him now.

"And I come bearing more than flowers..." Paul said, and Carol saw that he had a leather messenger bag resting beside him, which he bent and picked up, opening it to pull out a thick bundle of letters bound with a ribbon.

Carol's hand flew to her mouth, afraid to believe they could be for her.

"When I heard your ship was due I had some luck with the mail." he said, handing her the packet and then looked at Tara and Olivia. "Sorry I don't have yours too, but they'll be delivering the rest to your ship tomorrow."

Carol flipped through the return addresses, seeing Beth's hand writing, Maggie's too, but most of them were from Daryl, his almost printed scrawl easily recognizable in comparison to the girls' more elegant cursive.

"Looks like your dreamboat Marine wrote to you every day." Olivia said, sighing at how romantic that sounded to her.

Carol nodded and gave her a watery smile, so touched that Paul had been thoughtful enough to track down her missing mail she couldn't speak. She kept her head down and pulled the hanky from her sleeve to dab at her eyes.

"If you gals don't already have set plans for your liberty I'd enjoy the honor of escorting you around the island today." Paul said, drawing the others' attention away from her distress.

All Carol wanted to do was run back to her bunk and lose herself in Daryl's letters which she clutched to her chest like a most precious possession.

"I have a car and I know all the best sites to visit—not just the tourist traps either. I was stationed here—"

"Were you here in '41?" Tara interrupted, curious. "During the attack?"

At that Carol's head came up. She hadn't known Paul had been stationed in Hawaii previously.

Monroe looked uncomfortable when Tara leaned in closer to examine the ribbons on his uniform.

"You were." she said, her finger rising to brush over the special award for survivors of the December eleventh Japanese attacks on the Pearl Harbor base. And then her eyes filled with tears. _"The Arizona?"_ she asked him, noticing another insignia.

"I was on shore when it happened." Paul said, his voice soft with deep sorrow. He looked out over the shoreline, on the opposite side from where the hulks of the ships destroyed that day still remained under salvage, except the Arizona, which had been sunk with almost all hands and would remain as their gravesite, never to be raised. "I should've ended up at the bottom of the harbor with the rest of my crew."

"Why didn't you?" Olivia asked guilelessly.

The pain that question evoked showed plainly on his face and Carol stepped in to divert Olivia from that line of questioning.

"As long as none of you mind me not contributing much to the conversation while I sit in the back seat and read some of my letters, that sounds like a lovely offer, Paul." she said, looping her arm through his.

Looking at her gratefully he pulled himself together enough to turn with a smile to Tara and Olivia.

"Ladies?" he said, tipping the brim of his cover and lifting it with a sweep of his free hand, "Your chariot awaits."

* * *

 _Noah will be fine, but Merle has to have the cast on for eight weeks—two whole months of him bitching and moaning about it—as if he wasn't already putting people at each other's throats with his piss poor attitude and bull headedness. Of course the irony is that he's becoming much more dexterous with his prosthesis as a result of having the other arm out of commission. He's actually figured out how to do a lot of the more personal stuff with it, like outhouse stuff, if you take my meaning. Abe came for a visit and showed him some of the contraptions he built for Oscar, like the card holder and they've got their heads together on some other ideas for useful attachments (A couple of which I cannot mention in a letter to a lady...) ha ha._

 _Hershel has the idea this could actually turn into a business with all the boys returning home with similar injuries in need of such things. We'll see if Abe can hack working with Merle for more than the short run before we get our hopes up. I know he wants to feel useful and right now there just isn't a whole lot he can do on the farm with both arms less than nominal._

 _All right, for this next part if you're reading this letter in anywhere but your bunk you might want to skip to the end and come back to this part later. And Mr. Censor, I'm planning to marry this woman, so if you could lay off the black out for the next few lines I'd consider it a personal favor. Thanks._

 _I had a dream about you last night. You were sitting out on the porch swing, just waiting for me to come to you, sitting there with one leg all drawn up under your pretty white summer nightgown, the eyelet lace one, swinging the other foot, making the swing move up and back, trying to catch a breeze. It was a real hot night and that lace clung to you like a second skin. You had your hair all pinned up, but it was so hot n' humid wisps of curls kept coming loose all around your face and neck in those little corkscrews I love to wrap around my fingers. You're so beautiful; I can see all of you through that sheer sweet sweat dampened cloth, the parts that are dusky rose and cream white and the russet of your curls under that lace. You're there just waiting for me... and then I woke up... and it's a good thing I learned how to wash my own sheets..._

 _So I know you read that all even if you aren't in your bunk, but I bet now you wish you were. (wink)_

 _I hope this letter and the others finds you sooner rather than later. ILYMW. Daryl._

"You haven't stopped smiling since you started reading." Paul teased, looking at Carol in the rear view mirror. Tara turned around in her seat, where she'd been having a lively conversation with the chief, about what Carol wasn't exactly sure. She'd been glad to see that the two of them had hit it off. Tara didn't exactly trust most men with whom she had interactions unless they were patients.

Olivia had been leaning forward from her seat beside Carol in the back, a bit peeved that Tara had claimed shotgun and had gotten to sit next to the good looking sailor and kibitzing as best she could on their conversation.

"Carol, tell them to stop it." Olivia whined.

"Stop _what_?" Carol asked, pouting that they were taking her away from her letters.

"It's like they're talking in code or something." Olivia said, all in a huff. "What's a 'Hawaiian War Chant?' I can't understand half of what they're saying."

"Carol and Ollie are Jake with it, Monroe. You can trust them." Tara said, making Carol frown.

"What are you talking about?" Olivia asked again.

"He's a friend of Dorothy." Tara said, making Paul groan at her and pull the car over to the side of the road.

"A what?" Olivia asked, at a loss.

"You know that I like women, right?" Tara said. "Well, he likes men."

Tara's sexual orientation was an open secret among the other nurses. She was a leader and she did her difficult job superbly and that was all that mattered on board ship.

"He's a _queer_? But he's so good looking! That's so unfair." Olivia said, sounding so disappointed it made them all laugh.

"Sorry sweetheart." Paul said, looking at her with a teasing soberness. "True story."

"So what do you _do_?" Olivia asked, making them laugh again at her audacity. She blushed and made an impatient noise, "No—I don't mean—I mean how do you meet _others_? Other men like you that will _... like_ you? How do you know?"

"You really want to know?" Monroe asked, narrowing his eyes at her. "Not just looking to report the 'fruit salad'?"

"Paul— _no_ —we've all seen what happens when someone gets singled out." Carol said adamantly, reaching up to put her hand on his arm. "We shut it down on the _Hope._ No one does a Gag Reflex test in our psych ward, no dishonorable blues."

The Chief looked at them all in turn with a half disbelieving/half grateful expression. Such ready acceptance wasn't always guaranteed when he told his truth.

"Thank you." he finally said. "You don't know how much that means."

Carol squeezed his arm and Tara surprised him by sliding across the seat and giving him a full on hug. Olivia was shyer, settling for smiling at him tremulously.

Paul took a big breath and let it out, smiling at all of them.

"Okay, I know this one's got a broad shouldered Marine dreamboat waiting on her back in Georgia," he said, nodding at Carol, "but what about you two? You have a steady?" he asked Tara and Olivia, "Back in the states?

While Tara was shaking her head no, Olivia looked like she was going to cry.

"With these specs and big behind?" she choked out, pulling off her glasses.

"Oh honey- _no_! That settles it! I know where we're going." Paul said decisively, restarting the car.

"Where?" Olivia said.

"To Oz, my dear." Paul grinned. "To _Oz_."

* * *

Historical Notes:

" _Then, Pearl Harbor happened and the United States went to war. Suddenly, excluding gays and lesbians from military service wasn't as important. After all, every warm body was needed to win the war... from 1939 to 1945, they were policed much less and, in many cases, allowed to flourish within the confines of the military."_

" _[Lesbians in the Women's Army Corps are said to have] certain signals by which they recognize each other...The signal is said to be a whistle of the "Hawaiian War Chant."...Expressions common between them are said to include, "We're going to have a gay time tonight"; "Are you in the mood?" and "Messing around."_

 _T_ _here were ample opportunities for gay soldiers to meet other gay men and form queer social networks and even romantic and sexual relationships. Such networks were often referred to as the "fruit corner" or the "fruit salad."_

" _...during the discharge proceedings, accused gays and lesbians were often locked away in military psychiatric wards, where psychiatrists performed experiments on them to develop new techniques for identifying other gays and lesbians. One such "discovery" was the "Gag Reflex Test," which was said to identify a gay man by sticking a tongue depressor down his throat. If his gag reflex did not kick in, the study concluded, it was because he had performed fellatio so many times that the reflex would no longer work."_ ..com

" _..._ _the term "gay," was rarely used in its modern sense during the Second World War, ... the terms used at the time-homosexual, queer, fairy, fruit, and so forth_ —"Paul Jackson. _One of the Boys: Homosexuality in the Military during World War II._ Montreal and Kingston: McGill-Queen's U P, 2004.

The WWII novel _From Here to Eternity_ , by James Jones, has a subplot about servicemen in the gay bars of Hawaii right before the Pearl Harbor attacks that was left out of the movie. Interesting article about it on the _._

" _On the home front, World War II accelerated the social changes that the Great Depression had begun, inspiring millions to migrate for war industry jobs or for enlistment and deployment. As historian Allan_ _Bérubé_ _argues in his book,_ _Coming Out Under Fire_ _, "the massive mobilization for WW II relaxed the social constraints of peacetime that kept many gay men and women unaware of themselves and each other." Soldiers whose (homo)sexuality was discovered after joining the service received dishonorable blue discharges. With sexuality as a reason for separation such discharges made it difficult to find work or return home to small towns after the war. Many moved to the larger cities like San Francisco that began to have active gay communities during the war. _

_In_ _Love, Sex and War – Changing Values 1939–45_ _, published in 1985, John Costello says that the military experience of gays and lesbians in the Second World War "chipped away some of the old taboos". He added that servicemen living in close proximity were made aware that men who chose to have sexual relationships with other men were not suffering from sexual perversion, nor were they cowards.  
_

 _Thanks for reading!_


	16. Chapter 16

_In Hawaii Paul Monroe takes Carol and her friends to the Land of Oz and we learn his motives may not be as pure as they seem, while Daryl is near the end of his rope running interference for Merle's assholish behavior back in Georgia._

 _Thank you for all the kind encouragement to continue this one! Enjoy!_

* * *

Hawaii, Aug. 11, 1945

After driving around the island touring the most famous sites and having lunch at a beach side café, it was dusk and the Master Chief was finally making good on the promise he'd made earlier in the day.

"All right ladies, some ground rules for entering the Land of Oz. If you'll recall, when Dorothy went over the rainbow, she encountered lots of things and people like she'd never seen before, but she accepted them all for who and what they were." Paul Monroe said, his hand on the brass poppy shaped handle of a tall green door, the entrance to the club where he'd brought them.

From the outside it looked like many of the tropical bars lining the streets of Honolulu near the harbor, but it was in a very different part of town, tucked away in a grove of palms directly off the beach. The sound of music and laughter came from behind the door.

Carol, Tara and Olivia all looked at their handsome guide with varying levels of curiosity and interest. Tara looked happily anticipatory. Olivia's gaze had a bit more trepidation, but she put on a game face and took a deep breath while straightening her summer weight white dress uniform skirt and garrison cap. Then the three women nodded in understanding and Paul smiled back at them.

Monroe took off his cover and tucked it in between his bicep and chest to hold it and then opened the door. As they passed through, Carol paused to lean close and whisper in his ear.

" _Are all the men here... friends of Dorothy?"_

"Not all—not all are men either—be prepared to be hit on by men _and_ women, gorgeous." he winked back at her with a grin.

Carol's eyes went wide and he waggled his eyebrows at her and drew her arm through his to escort her inside.

The men and women crowded at the bar or seated at the round pub tables listening to the combo on the small stage at the back of the room were a mix of natives, locals and military. Most were fairly young, in their twenties, though the colored bartender was older, in his mid to late thirties perhaps.

"Master Chief Monroe, as I live and breathe!" the bartender called out with a big smile, looking over and around the people at the bar in front of him. He held out his hand and Paul grasped it in a friendly handshake, drawing Carol along with him.

"Morgan!" Paul responded with a huge smile and then turned to Carol and the two women following along in their wake. "Ladies, meet the owner of this establishment, Mr. Morgan Jones. These are my good friends Carol, Tara and Olivia. We're here for the show."

Morgan narrowed his eyes, taking in their neat uniforms and nurse's caps.

"Ah. For a minute there I thought they were finally able to diagnose your malfunction and put you under twenty-four hour nursing care..." the barkeep teased, swatting at Monroe's shoulder with the bar rag in his other hand before releasing him.

"I met Carol and her fiancé Daryl in San Fran. His brother is a Master Chief—she and her girls are from the Hope—said I'd show them a good time here in the islands."

"And you brought them _here_?" Morgan asked, a bit skeptical, looking the women over again. "They good people then?"

"Yeah, they are." Paul affirmed. " _Real_ good."

"Well, all right then." Morgan smiled and motioned to a nearby waitress who was dropping off empty glasses and bottles. "Sherry? You want to set these lovely ladies up at a table near the stage?"

The thin blonde smiled and nodded in a friendly business-like way, but her gaze lingered on Tara and warmed when the dark haired nurse gave her a sultry hint of a smile back.

"Thank you very much, Mr. Jones, it's a pleasure to meet you." Carol said, taking off her white gloves and laying them on the bar before holding out her hand to Morgan with a friendly smile.

Surprised, Morgan hesitated before taking her hand, tilting his head slightly to the side to look first at her hand and then back up at her face.

"Do I detect some Georgia in those tones?" he asked, somewhat wary, his eyes narrowing.

"Why yes—how kind of you to notice—I lived in Atlanta all my life until I enlisted last year." Carol replied, still holding out her hand and smiling pleasantly.

Olivia frowned worriedly and looked at Tara, who was watching carol and Morgan with a clenched jaw, her attention drawn away from the waitress.

"Morgan?" Paul asked. He knew that his friend had lived in the Deep South as a child, but his mother had moved to San Francisco after his father's death in WWI, marrying a native Hawaiian she'd met there and then moving to the islands in the twenties.

Morgan continued to stare into Carol's clear blue eyes, taking her measure. All he saw was a certain warmth and sincere regard for him which seemed to satisfy him.

"It's a true pleasure to meet you as well." Morgan said quietly, finally carefully taking Carol's hand and clasping it between both of his. They exchanged a dignified nod before he released her hand and greeted Tara and Olivia.

"If you'll follow me?" Sherry asked and the women looked to Paul.

"I'll be there in two shakes." Monroe assured them, "Give Sher your drink orders—Morgan makes a mean Zombie—and I'll meet you at the table."

When the women left Paul bellied up closer to the bar, sitting on an open barstool.

"You want to tell me what that was about?" he asked his friend, nodding back over his shoulder at the women he'd brought in.

"In my experience southern belles don't offer their lily white hands to a colored man—least not in public—least not unless they want something else _—in private_." Morgan said tightly.

"Carol's not like that." Paul protested strongly, his brows drawn together in concern. "She's one of the most genuine people I've ever met—beautiful down to the bone, down to the _soul_."

"Sounds like maybe you have a thing for her yourself." Morgan speculated thoughtfully. Monroe had shown up with female as well as male friends and enjoyed their company here at Oz, but as long as he'd known him, had never been _this_ interested in a woman.

"I guess I do..." the other man said softly, turning to look at the fascinating nurse. "She _is_ special, Morgan. Accepting and honest, and that porcelain skin with that scattering of freckles? That lush little body and crazy red hair? And those sky blue peepers a guy could lose himself inside?" he paused, sighing deeply, "I don't think I've been this hot for a woman in my entire life."

He looked bewildered at his own admission that he was attracted to Carol so strongly.

" _Damn_ , son." Morgan breathed, nonplussed. He rocked back on his heels, searching for a response. When he hit on one he blurted it out, "Wait, didn't you say she's engaged?"

"Yeah. And that damn jarhead Daryl's a real stand up guy—that's the only thing stopping me." Paul said morosely. He was under no illusions that if he wanted to have any kind of life in regular society after the war he'd have to give up his dalliances with men. His current lifestyle was easier to maintain in the all male bastion of a fleet, but living in the suburbs, working in the corporate offices of some downtown company? Yeah, you needed a wife for that life. Carol understood who and what he was and had accepted him. Carol was the kind of woman he'd always hoped he would marry. How much better would it be if he could fall in love with her?

"You know I don't judge, but have you ever been... you know... _with_ a woman?" Morgan leaned close and dropped his voice down to whisper soft intimacy for the delicate question.

"I've been with women. I love women." Paul said. And it was true, he'd enjoyed sex with women, loved their softness and the protective tenderness they drew out of him. But his first time with a man had shown him he needed the heat and pure rough lusty and sometimes brutal release that they provided. With women he'd never felt free to really be honest about what he needed in bed.

Morgan slapped him on the shoulder in commiseration when he saw the frustration and indecision on his friend's face.

"You want me to let Zeke know you're here?" he then asked Paul.

"After the show." Monroe said curtly, giving a little huffing sigh.

"My little brother's not gonna be real thrilled to see you looking all moon-eyed at that sassy red head." Morgan warned. Ezekiel could be a real hot head where his lover was concerned. Monroe's clean cut but sensual good looks got him plenty of notice and propositions on the regular. More than once Morgan had to break up a fight between his brother and some newbie who didn't know the score and had come on to Paul right in front of him.

"I'll make it up to him." Paul grinned, smiling devilishly, standing and tugging down his white dress uniform jacket. Noticing that Carol had forgotten her small white gloves he scooped them up and unobtrusively slipped them in his jacket inside lapel pocket before recovering his cover from the bar top.

"Can you try and keep it down if you end up at the house?" Morgan grumped, "Last time you stayed over Jenny about had my hide. We don't need to be hearin' all that nasty shit and you know she's extra cranky now and not sleeping very well."

"Feels like she's been pregnant a _year_ , brother." Paul nodded sagely. "She needs to pop little Duane or Darlene out _soon_."

"You got that right." Morgan sighed. Living in a too small house with an eight and a half month pregnant wife, his brother, and his twice widowed mother, plus dodging the authorities by making payoffs to the local asshole sheriff to keep the bar from being raided, tested his ability to cope every day.

Sherry returned with the drink orders—Zombies all around—and Paul volunteered to carry them back to the table. When he was half-way there, the combo finished their set and the stage was cleared. The bar was packed so he had to wind his way through noisy and boisterous patrons, almost losing the tray to a stray thrown elbow and a head thrown back in laughter twice.

When he reached the table the lights went down and then back up on a muscular dark skinned man wearing native dress, bare-chested with a floral patterned kilt, flanked by two tall women, also in colorful off the shoulder native sarongs and flowered head dresses, and three men with large drums. The features of the striking young man, who the MC introduced as Ezekiel Jones, were a mix of African American and Hawaiian. The dance, choreographed to the heady drum beat, was more Martha Graham modern than beach hotel tourist luau, and no one could take their eyes off of the three athletic and sensual dancers moving almost as one.

Carol felt Paul's eyes on her and met them, giving him a warm smile of thanks for bringing them here to see this. He knew she had no idea of all of the undercurrents swirling around them and felt a prick of guilt to his conscience as he looked between her and Ezekiel.

After the exotic and exuberant performance was through, the other dancers and drummers left the stage for the wings and the man at the center of it all reached down and picked up a ukulele and a white towel from a case on the side of the stage. He mopped the sweat off his hands, face and neck, leaving the towel draped over his right shoulder before settling onto a stool that had been placed at the center of the stage.

"We're going to slow things down a bit now so we can catch our breaths." Ezekiel smiled, taking a few deep ones himself. "Just a reminder that not _everyone_ gets to live happily ever after in the Land of Oz..." the young man said and then directed a heated look at Paul. He began strumming the uke and humming to begin singing his emotional version of a beloved ballad to his lover.

" _Somewhere, over the rainbow..."_

* * *

Greene Farm, near Atlanta, Aug. 11, 1945

The mid August Georgia heat made the air shimmer and tempers fray more easily. Daryl had been repairing a fox chewed hole in the floor of the chicken coop, hot sweaty work, and had stopped to get a drink and pull off his shirt to douse himself with water from the outdoor well pump when he heard the argument before he saw the two men involved, their raised voices drifting from the nearby barn.

"No fucking way."

"You're wrong! Just admit it!"

He rounded the corner of the barn and saw them standing in the workshop Hershel had let them set up in one of the unused horse stalls.

"Nothin' to admit!" Merle said indignantly.

"What the hell is wrong now?" Daryl said, exasperated, stepping between them. He was tired beyond the telling of playing referee between his brother and Abe. They had made some headway on the prototype designs for new types of useful prosthetics, Ford was a creative craftsman, but the two men seemed to spend more time arguing than working on most of the three days a month he came up from DC to work with Merle.

"Your brother is an asshole." Abraham said in disgust, standing with his back to the worktable, arms akimbo, leaning his backside on the top of it.

"That's a given, but what did he do to remind you of the fact this time?" Daryl said to Abe while giving his brother the stink eye.

"He claims that without the American Naval supremacy we couldn't have beat the Krauts." Abe snarled. "Ever hear of D-Day? Monte Cassino? Battle of the Bulge? That's _Army_ , boy!"

"Pacific is where the Navy really shines, brother." Daryl said, agreeing with Abe but throwing Merle a bone, unselfishly ignoring the importance of the Marines to both theaters of the war.

"Who _transports_ the Army and Marines around the world? Who delivers the supplies they need? Protects convoys and the hospital ships like Peach is on? She's a _Navy_ Nurse god damn it!" Merle said, his face turning red, spitting out the words.

"Why are you yelling?" the little girl voice interrupted whatever rejoinder Abe or Daryl would've given. Glenn's youngest sister, Hannah, was standing in the stall doorway.

"We're not yellin' sweetpea, just having a loud discussion." Daryl said apologetically.

"You just come to bust our chopsuey, missy-san?" Merle asked, giving her an unfriendly narrow eyed look.

"Can it, Dixon!" Abraham snapped, pulling off his baseball cap and throwing it at Merle, his brows drawing together, angry that he would insult a little kid with a racially loaded slur.

"Carrot top!" the girl blurted, staring up at Abe's very red hair with fascination.

Merle raised one eyebrow, the expression on his face indicating he was wondering if the child was a bit touched in the head.

"Maggie said I could give Buttons these carrot tops." she held out her left hand which clutched a fistful of feather top leafy greens with a bit of orange still attached.

"Ah. I see." Abe nodded and then stood tall and held out one beefy hand. "I'll take you on down to see her so she don't stomp you."

"Thank you kindly." Hannah said politely, craning her delicate neck to look all the way up to Ford's face with her big brown eyes and adding thoughtfully, "You're _very_ big."

To prove it Abe bent and picked her up, cradling her in the crook of one beefy arm and grinning at her. Hannah giggled and put her arm around his neck before leaning in and giving him a peck on his cheek. The big man grinned and carried her out of the workroom, shouldering past Merle while Daryl moved out of the doorway to let them pass and then back into the space, blocking Merle from exiting.

"Get the fuck outa my way." Merle snarled at his brother, trying to push past him to leave the barn, but Daryl restrained him with a flat hand to the middle of his chest.

"I said get the fuck back!" Merle said viciously, almost under his breath.

"What's wrong? Where you goin'? It ain't even lunch time." Daryl said evenly, "You're supposed to work a full day." That was the deal; the price for being allowed to stay here on the farm. Other than therapy to strengthen his broken arm, the cast recently removed, Merle was healthy now and so he had to contribute in some way. Working with Abraham to test the new designs by putting them to use on farm work was his contribution. Already they'd developed attachments for his BE (below elbow) prosthesis so he could hold a hoe, rake and broom—none of which thrilled Merle—but allowed him to 'earn his keep' and stay fit through some manual labor.

"What's wrong? You got me livin' with a bunch a' Japs, niggers, Bible beaters and democrats!" Merle said, his voice rising in disgust. He grabbed hold of the front of Daryl's wife beater white t-shirt with his good hand and tried to push him out of the way but Daryl didn't budge.

"You weren't like this, Merle. Before." Daryl said, his voice low, sad and intense. "Our daddy was—he hated everybody; lied and cheated, treated people like they were dirt—we said we'd _never_ be like that. _You_ took me away from that when I was thirteen, took me to a place in Savannah a lot like this with all kinds of people and you never once acted like they were anything less than you and me."

"Thought you weren't supposed to talk about that shit—how it was before—the head shrinker doctor said." Merle's head went back in confusion. That was the theory anyhow. Attempts to force the memories to return might cause them to retreat even more deeply, never to be recovered.

"I'm tired of you bein' an asshole to everyone, acting like a simple-minded piece of shit!" Daryl said with sad but forceful sincerity.

"Lemme go!" Merle demanded, almost fearfully, his prosthetic arm rising to push against Daryl's chest along with his good hand. As they struggled it became entangled in the thin t-shirt and when with a burst of force Merle shoved Daryl back, the shirt ripped, caught on the curved metal of the BE.

Daryl fell and the scars all across his broad muscular back were fully visible, the shirt in tatters.

"How did you..." Merle looked horrified, staring at the evidence of someone's brutality left on his brother's skin.

Daryl stared up at him stoically.

"Our daddy?" Merle whispered.

"Yeah, he did." Daryl admitted, his voice flat.

"I... didn't I know he was?" Merle asked, an anguish of guilt behind his eyes.

"He did the same to you. That's why you left first. When I was ten." Daryl shrugged. "You came back for me when you could."

"I _left_ you there?" Merle asked, stricken. "How _long_ did I leave you there?"

Daryl paused. He had never talked about the abuse he had suffered at his father's hands with anyone but Merle. Their shared scars were a part of the past that had bound them together, integral to their brotherhood. Knowing that even that memory was lost was a knife to his heart.

"Three years..." he said dully.

" _Shit...shit... shit..."_ Merle reeled back, reaching behind him for one of the workbench stools, missing it and sprawling onto the dirt floor of the stall on his ass, hitting hard.

" _Merle?"_ Worried, Daryl scrambled to his feet and went to his brother. "You okay?"

"Leave me be!" Merle barked, refusing to look at Daryl. "Just get the fuck outa here and leave me be!"

Daryl stood over Merle, staring down at him, a muscle under his left eye twitching.

"You know, I may be the one walking away, but you're the one who left me... _Again_." Daryl said, his voice breaking, "I just want my brother back." and then he turned on his heel and left.

Merle lay on the floor, his body curling in the fetal position, holding the torn pieces of the shirt that had started the cascade of memories he couldn't stop or even slow down enough to understand. Pain, fear, a tow-headed kid crying, begging him not to leave, a fist to the side of his head knocking him down, the same kid, bigger now, his slight back bloody and torn... and then bitter salt water in his mouth, men yelling, screaming, men on fire, his friends, shipmates _, his_ _men_ were burning and he couldn't save them, _he_ was burning...

* * *

AN: Glad to be back to this one! Just realized it sort of parallels the show-Carol is off without Daryl in a faraway place with Ezekiel & Morgan! LOL!

Ezekiel's ukulele version is based on Israel Kamakawiwo'ole's _Over the Rainbow_ from the _What a Wonderful World_ medley (1993). _The Wizard of Oz_ was released in 1939, so everyone was very familiar with the song in 1945.

NNC WWII History: "Preparation for the conflict again saw the Naval Nurse Corps grow, with nearly eight hundred members serving on active duty by November 1941, plus over nine hundred inactive reserves. By war's end there would be 1,799 active component nurses and 9,222 reserves (with the overwhelming number of reserves on active duty) scattered across six continents.

Navy nurses were on duty during the initial Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor, Kāneʻohe Bay, the Philippines, Guam, and aboard the _Solace_ ; they were vital in preventing further loss of life and limb. In fact, the nursing profession's vital role was quickly recognized and it became the only women's profession that was deemed so essential as to be placed under the War Manpower Commission. Despite shortages of qualified nurses during the war, the navy was able to hold to its standards and enroll nurses of outstanding qualifications and experience. These outstanding nurses received advanced training in surgery, orthopedics, anesthesia, contagion, dietetics, physiotherapy, and psychiatry, the latter helping men understand and manage Post Traumatic Stress Syndrome (then known as shell-shock) and battlefield fatigue. Source: Bureau of Medicine and Surgery, United States Navy. [4] "White Task Force: the story of the Nurse Corps, United States Navy." (NAVMED 939 1945), pg. 10.

NNC dress: During the spring/summer, the navy blue service dress uniform was worn with the white hat cover and white gloves (optional). Black pumps of plain design were worn with beige stockings. Due to the extreme difficulties of laundering & preserving the appearance of the traditional white hospital dress in the Pacific Theater, Navy Nurses were authorized to wear the grey & white striped Waves seersucker dress in August 1944. It was worn without tie, open at the neck, with beige stockings and black shoes. For some excellent pictures see _blitzkriegbaby_ website


	17. Chapter 17

_Carol has a surprising encounter on a tropical beach and Daryl commiserates with Rick on the state of his love life._

WWII Vocabulary:

 **Battle Watch:** To do one's best under difficult circumstances.

 **Crumb Up:** To get a haircut, shoeshine, freshly pressed shirt, etc., in preparation for an inspection.

 **Dead Battery:** An irritable or gloomy person; a pessimist.

* * *

August 11, 1945

Paul Monroe led Carol down off the deck of the night club heading towards the palm trees at the edge of the beach. He'd linked her arm with his, a gentleman all in his Navy white helping her over the uneven footing by holding her hand in place as it rested against his forearm.

Carol felt the soft white sand which still retained some of the heat of the day under her feet and was glad she'd let him talk her into slipping off her shoes, leaving them on the deck of the club overlooking the ocean.

"It's so beautiful here—how can the world work so hard at tearing itself apart when there's peaceful places like this?" Carol sighed listening to the surf hissing rhythmically onto the beach in front of them as the palms swayed in the breeze. The sounds of the club behind them receded as they walked further down along the beach, the reflection of the moon on the water giving a soft illumination to the picture postcard perfect scene.

"Isn't always peaceful." Paul replied, the pain underlying his soft voice causing Carol to stop and tighten her grip on his arm. He stopped walking but continued looking out onto the moon swept bay and not at her.

"I'm sorry—I wasn't—I'm sorry..." Carol said, releasing his arm and looking up at his profile with concern. He'd told Tara he'd been here back in '41, during the Japanese attack, but not why he hadn't been on board his ship in the harbor.

"I was here." He finally said, chewing on his lower lip in the same way Daryl sometimes did when he was troubled or anxious, making Carol feel a rush of warmth for him. Paul Monroe was a good man; he had helped them all so much while they were in San Francisco and had continued to show only kindness and friendship to her since then.

"Here?" Carol prompted.

"Had a three day pass. I came here, helped at the bar; stayed at Morgan and Jenny's." he looked over at the sprawling but simple one story bungalow house behind and to the side of the club, closer to the beach, "Whenever I had leave I came here..." His eyes moved to the club. "They treated me like family—still do—Morgan's like a brother to me."

"And here's where Ezekiel is." Carol said. She couldn't miss the heat between the two men when the proud handsome singer had come to their table after his set was over. His dismissive rudeness to her when Paul had introduced them had been what had prompted the pointed invitation to Carol to take a stroll along the shore, _alone_.

"Yeah, well he's _not_ so much a brother..." Paul admitted wryly. "I was so wrapped up in him I was running late getting back to Pearl that morning—we got caught in the traffic stoppage heading back through town—then when the Zeroes started their bombing runs Zeke and I had to abandon Morgan's car and make a run for it. I was hit by strafing from a low flier and taken to one of the hospitals."

He ran his left hand over his right bicep as if remembering the old wound, his eyes a bit unfocused as he continued.

"By the time we finally got to the harbor it was all over. My ship was just _gone_... it was a nightmare... I was reported missing presumed dead, my folks were told I was probably at the bottom of the harbor with the rest of my crew, my men... where I _should've_ been..." his voice broke, full of guilt and pain.

"But you're not." Carol said. "You're still here." she took her hand in his and then he slowly turned to look at her. Her eyes were full of compassion. She knew what it was like to survive the death of someone for whom you felt such deep responsibility. Losing his crew would've been like losing Sophia. Standing on her toes and raising her arms to his shoulders she pulled him into a comforting hug.

"For a long time I didn't want to be." Paul admitted, burying his face in her sweet-smelling curls, allowing himself the luxury of holding her close, the brief luxury of hoping for more.

"I felt the same way when I lost my little girl... that it wasn't worth even trying." Carol told him, hoping that sharing that hurt would help him to know he wasn't alone.

"And now?" he asked, pulling his head back just enough that he could see her face.

"Now I have reasons to keep trying." she smiled up at him, her blue eyes sparkling with reflected happiness. Daryl was waiting for her back in Georgia, ready to begin their life together. It was more than she'd ever dreamed she could have in those long lonely years with Ed.

"I'm glad." he smiled back, "You deserve every good thing, Carol..."

When he leaned in she thought he meant to brush a brotherly kiss to her cheek or forehead, but his mouth instead found and moved over hers, at first light and almost teasing. When he deepened the kiss she didn't know how to react. He kissed with practiced assurance and she felt herself starting to respond to the persuasive feel of his lips' warm and passionate entreaty. She turned her head and pushed against his chest and he immediately stopped.

"We could be good together, Care—you and me." Paul said, his voice soft and sincere, pleading with her. "Give us a chance."

Carol felt a wave of sadness for her friend wash over her. She knew the reality of what he was asking her for—his life after the war was stretching out before him, long and lonely, bleak and barren.

"You should be with someone you can _love_ , Paul." She said, taking a step back to put some distance between them.

"But you understand me better than anyone I've ever known. I care about you—and I _am_ attracted to you—maybe you could love me..." he insisted, taking her hand in his and holding it to his heart.

Carol stared up at him, saw the sincerity in his eyes, the need to convince her that this dream of his was possible.

"Maybe I could... I do care about you..." Carol said softly, raising her free hand to cup his cheek, "but Daryl has my _heart_ , Paul, and I know I won't ever have to share _his_ with another man."

"If I married you I would never look at another man. I believe in those vows." Paul said adamantly.

"And deny who you are? Live a lie? It'll kill you, Paul. Not all at once, but slow, by degrees..." Carol chided him with the truth.

"You don't understand—that _is_ my life when all this is over." Monroe said achingly soft, "I go back to Kansas City to work for my dad and marry some debutante my mother and grandmother pick out for me from their circle of friends and I'm stuck in a loveless—"

"Why?" Carol interrupted, her hand going to his shoulder and giving it an abrupt shake.

"Because that's what's expected of me." he sounded heartsick but resigned.

"No—why go back there?" Carol asked, "Why not stay here with Zeke or go live in San Francisco or New York or Paris or where ever _you_ want?"

Monroe stared at her, confusion and longing haunting his gaze. Could it really be that simple? Could he just ignore his family's plans for him and run off into the sunset and live another life?

"I'm their only son... four generations... built a legacy..." he protested, but starting to waver.

"The world is changed... for all of us... the _past_ is the _past_." Carol said with quiet forcefulness.

"Can I go against everything my family believes in?" he asked her, biting his lower lip, trying to imagine making such a break. They'd never accept his sexuality, but maybe they could handle it if they never had to be confronted with it directly. Living overseas or even all the way across the country could be the answer he'd been looking for to set the course of his future.

"I'm not saying you shouldn't respect your parents, but it's _your_ life, Paul. I wasted enough of mine in a loveless marriage. Learn from my mistake. Don't settle for something less just so you're not alone."

Paul stared at her thoughtfully before he reached over and pushed an errant curl off her forehead. Without any warning he carefully took her in his arms once again, kissed her soundly and then released her before she could protest.

"You pass that along to Dixon for me—tell him he's just about the luckiest son-of a bitch I know to have someone as beautiful and kind as you in love with him." Then he added, with raised eyebrow and a twinkle in his eye that showed he was thinking of her man appreciatively, "You're _both_ pretty damn lucky and I'm lucky to have you both as friends."

A sudden unbidden vision of watching Monroe and Daryl in the same sort of clinch as she'd seen him in with Ezekiel when he'd come to their table flamed Carol's cheeks, feeling a world away from being Ed's repressed little wife back in Atlanta. Who would've thought that she'd meet and grow to care about people so different than she was?

"You'll think about what I said? I really do want you to be happy." Carol asked, returning to the problem at hand. "I hope we're good enough friends for that."

"I will." Paul nodded, giving her a serious smile. He nodded back in the direction of the club. "We should probably get back."

"You think Zeke has cooled off enough?" Carol asked, raising one elegant brow. "I've only got 3 days of leave before we ship out and I don't want to spend it hiding out here on the beach!"

"Might be more fun if he hasn't." Paul said wickedly, holding his arm out for her to take. A jealous Ezekiel was a _passionate_ Ezekiel.

Instead she batted her hand against his shoulder.

"Your handkerchief, Master Chief." She ordered him, holding out her hand. When he frowned at her she pointed at her lips. "You're wearing my shade." she said, inspecting his whites to make sure no more of her lipstick had inadvertently been transferred to him.

" _Sorry..."_ Monroe said sheepishly, pulling out his white hanky and using it to scrub at his mouth, happy that she'd chosen to not withdraw her friendship and had forgiven his indiscretion.

* * *

August 14, 1945

"You ever worry about it?" Rick asked Daryl, his sigh loud and defeated sounding.

Daryl had just walked in on a rather heated "discussion" between Rick and Michonne when he'd returned from a meeting with the Army Supply Corps. Quartermaster Sergeant about this month's problems at the canning facility they shipped their beef to. He was taking on more responsibility for the farm management, something Hershel gladly relinquished, never comfortable with the business side of farming.

Michonne had been about to leave for choir practice at her church and Rick had wanted to accompany her, jealous of any other guys she might meet there. Daryl's interruption had allowed her to cut off Rick's objections and leave in the older model car she'd borrowed to come to the farm to spend the afternoon there on her half day off from the bakery.

"You don't have trust, it's hard to have anything else." Daryl shrugged, pulling off his suit coat and constricting neck tie and then unbuttoning and loosening the collar of his white shirt. He'd gotten all crumbed up in civvies, trying to look respectable for his business meeting and had almost sweated his way through the undershirt, shirt and jacket he'd worn.

"She has this whole other life I can't be a part of." Rick fretted, running his hand through his sweat soaked short dark curls.

"She loves you, Rick." Daryl assured his friend.

"When I'm with her I know that—I see the look in her eyes and I know it in my heart—but when she's way from me? With her people? Then my head starts up an argument against it."

"You think they're telling her to stay away?"

"I _know_ they are." Rick said, his anger muted by sadness, "Her folks don't want her with a white man any more than the assholes who went after us in that parking lot did."

That night had been when both Daryl and Carol had seen how Rick felt about the woman he had fought to protect. Their determination to be together despite the forces working against them had been inspiring.

"She's their kin—they want to protect her—I get that." Rick sighed. "But they gotta see how much I love her and want to protect her too."

"You think you're protecting her but it might make it worse. You go with her to that part of town and that draws attention—the wrong _kind_ of attention." Daryl reminded him.

"Can't go with her to her church, or Sunday dinner at her folks or to the pictures or even the lunch counter at Woolworths." Rick muttered, kicking at some rocks in the dirt and gravel driveway. "Only place we have to be together is this farm." he swept his arm out, his gaze finding Daryl's.

"Not like you didn't know it would be this way, man." Daryl said, squinting and leaning back against the side of the black sedan. As much as he missed Carol—and that was every minute of every day—at least he had the solace that they could build a life together when she returned. What did Rick and Michonne have?

"I see Glenn and Maggie, what they have, and want it so bad I can taste it."

"That's different, Rick." Daryl shook his head, looking over to the big white farm house. "You know it's different."

Rick nodded and then blew out a heavy sigh through his nose, more of a frustrated snort. The blending of the Greene and Rhee families was a work in progress, but neither side had given up.

"I just want a chance to have a life with her, Dix." Rick said plaintively. "And it feels like it's over before it even had a chance to start..."

"Hey, don't be such a dead battery! We didn't make it off that fucking island so we could give up at the first sign of trouble, right?" Daryl chided with an encouraging grin. "Hell, when have we ever done something the easy way?"

"Never. I know 'chonne and me are meant to be, but it seems like I never get off battle watch. My girl's whole family and mine and pretty much the entire state of _Georgia_ are against us." Rick said. A marriage between him and Michonne was literally illegal in 1945 Georgia.

"You could move to D.C. Take Abe up on the job offer to run his place. Could get married there." Daryl reminded him. When they'd found no county clerk willing to issue them a license in Atlanta, Maggie and Glenn had a quiet civil ceremony at a courthouse in D.C. before their church wedding so the marriage could be considered legal in the eyes of the courts.

With the new prosthesis business he and Merle had started beginning to take off, Abe and Holly were considering relocating to Atlanta, but didn't want to sell the small hotel in Alexandria. They had first asked Daryl if he'd consider managing it for them, but he had found his niche here at the farm and also hadn't wanted to leave Merle. When he'd turned them down, Abe had next turned to Rick and Shane.

"Don't know if she'd want to be that far from her folks." Rick said, looking lost. "If I take her away from them they'll never accept me."

"You really think they _ever_ will?" Daryl asked, skeptical. Though certain younger members of the family like her cousin Noah seemed to have accepted Michonne's relationship with Rick, her parents had yet to even agree to meet him.

"I don't know... maybe, with more time for them to get used to the idea... I just hate being apart from her and when she does family stuff I can't be there..." Rick said, sounding defeated again. "But look who I'm talking to, your girl's halfway around the world in a war zone on a boat full of lonely men..."

They both knew his own brother had already fallen in love with _Nurse_ Carol. Who knew how many other soldiers, sailors and Marines were plying her with sad stories and roguish smiles on their handsome mugs right now, just itching to steal her away from a far off sad sack of a boyfriend?

"I knew it was meant to be from the night we met." Daryl said, one corner of his mouth turning up, remembering how beautiful she'd been in her widow's weeds; that back dress setting her apart from the other girls and women all around her. Her patience with him, her sweetness, her utter serenity masking the depth of her pain over a loss to horrible to contemplate; everything she _was_ spoke to him. Their connection couldn't be severed by time or distance, it was a soul bond.

"You're happy, aren't you?" Rick said, tilting his head at Daryl. "Even with all that's going on with Merle and Johnny and Beth and missing Carol you're still pretty easy in your skin now, aren't you?"

"I am." Daryl nodded. Merle had a breakthrough of sorts after their argument in the barn and had started recovering some memories. His brother had agreed to meet with Hershel and him for a sort of informal family counseling sessions to talk through what he was remembering and thinking. It was a start.

Johnny's wife had decided to wait and see how much ground he was able to regain in his ability to learn before she met with him. Dr. Rhee had been tutoring him three times a week over the summer and the former corpsman was reading at a sixth grade level and enjoyed math. He was also learning to ride so he could help with the cattle now that Maggie's pregnancy precluded her going out on horseback.

Beth had volunteered to teach him. She had needed the distraction when the news came that her beau, Zack, had been killed by an unexploded bomb in England about a week after VE Day when his squad had been helping to clear rubble from a destroyed church. At first she'd gravitated to Daryl, transferring her mourning into fear about Carol. He'd been as patient as he'd known how to be, but he finally couldn't take her hovering over him with dire warnings about the dangers Carol faced at sea surrounded by the enemy. Maggie had come in on the tail end of one such conversation and had immediately taken Beth aside and made her see how what she was doing was hurtful even if Daryl was too kind to tell her so.

"Now that they dropped those bombs it'll all be over soon, buddy." Rick said, putting his hand on Daryl's shoulder and giving it a good hard squeeze. "She's comin' home."

Daryl just nodded. There had been a mail blackout for the entire Pacific Theater for the last month. He had no idea where Carol's ship was, if she'd gotten any of his letters or if she had sent him any in return. He hoped she was far away from any action, but knew she was probably in the thick of it, doing whatever she could do to save as many people as she could.

"Let's go get cleaned up. Patricia's doing up fried chicken for supper and Glenn's ma made that hot cabbage dish you like." Rick said, grabbing onto Daryl's shirt and pretending to drag him towards the house.

"Kimchi?" Daryl asked, grinning. The spicy Korean dish was like cabbage in lit up lighter fluid but he loved it.

Two things then happened simultaneously, Beth, June and Hannah came running out of the house, yelling that they just said on the radio that Japan had surrendered, and Daryl heard the sound of the motorcycle used by Woody, the Western Union man turn onto the lane heading for the house.

* * *

AN: Yes, Paul overstepped by kissing her, but Carol was secure enough in her love for Daryl to be a friend to him and try to get Monroe to see that he didn't really want her; he wanted a way around what his family expected of him. (And of course everyone falls in love with Carol. As they should!)

Rick & Michonne are running into problems because of the way WWII era society treated (& to some extent are still treating) interracial relationships. According to my research, technically even Maggie & Glenn could not have legally married in Georgia in 1945 because the state anti-miscegenation laws banned whites from marrying someone from any other race, not just African Americans. In this case Hershel could perform a church wedding in Atlanta, but it was not legal without the license from the state. That's why they first had to have a civil ceremony in DC which allowed such marriages.

"By 1958, two dozen states still prohibited interracial marriage: Alabama, Arizona, Arkansas, Delaware, Florida, **Georgia** , Idaho, Indiana, Kentucky, Louisiana, Maryland, Mississippi, Missouri, Nebraska, Nevada, North Carolina, Oklahoma, South Carolina, Tennessee, Texas, Utah, Virginia, West Virginia and Wyoming."

The Supreme Court finally ruled all state laws banning interracial marriage unconstitutional with its decision on _Loving vs. Virginia_ , which passed in 1967. The last state _law_ officially prohibiting _interracial marriage_ was repealed in Alabama in 2000. See: Renee Romano,  Race Mixing: Black-White Marriage in Postwar America.


	18. Chapter 18

Notes: _The USS Hope's mission to relieve military base hospitals on the islands of the Pacific puts Carol into a dangerous position when her unit comes across a group of holdouts, Japanese soldiers who don't know that the war has ended._

 _(You'll see some familiar faces from TWD in similar jobs on the Saipan base, causing similar complications for Carol...)_

* * *

" _Nurse?_ _I need some assistance here!"_ the kneeling man in the torn and bloody Navy uniform looked harried as he worked to stop the bleeding on the leg wound of the screaming man on the ground.

Carol ran to him, stuffing the pistol she'd just used into the back waistband of her trousers, glad she had followed Tara's lead and changed into the green khaki fatigues that she and the other nurses on the shore party had adopted instead of the white or blue dresses they usually wore on board ship.

They were supposed to be there to assist in the transport evacuation of all of the military personnel from the small Naval hospital on Saipan, site of one of the most important battles in the Marianas, south of Iwo Jima, but had come under fire from a group of Japanese soldiers who hadn't gotten the word that the war was over.

The Japanese had waited until they started moving the ambulatory wounded towards the beach and the waiting landing craft. Pinned down by gunfire, shielding their patients with their own bodies, the medics and nurses had taken several causalities before the Marines were able to push the attackers back off the beach and pursued them to the caves where they'd been hiding.

Carol pushed down hard with the heel of her hand on the pressure point of the femoral artery above the leg wound, slowing the blood flow enough to be able to check to see if there was an exit wound. The patient passed out, a relief for all of them since it meant an end to his screams for now. She observed closely and saw the careful but fast efficiency with which the sailor worked; relieved to see he must be one of the medics from the base hospital, not one of the other patients.

"Damn it!" the corpsman cursed as he ripped open the khaki over the entrance wound to visualize it more clearly. "It hit the bone and fragmented, tore into the artery like a buzz saw—it's shredded—we need to get him to the Hope and an OR, STAT."

"Tourniquet." Carol said and the sailor nodded in agreement, wiping off his blood slicked hands and reaching into his bag. Together they worked quickly to apply it and ready the man for the stretcher that would take him to the ship bound transport boats.

"You're quite a woman. Where'd you learn to shoot like that?"" the tall corpsman gave Carol a cocky grin as he offered her a hand up off the ground. He was one of the men stationed here; had been here for the last two months along with the rest, cut off from contact with the Allied forces, their radio destroyed in an earlier fire fight, locked in a struggle with the Japanese soldiers who had attacked today, led by the now almost legendary "Fox of Saipan," their Captain.

"My fiancé was a jar head." Carol said, taking his hand but releasing it as soon as she was standing, "He made sure I could take care of myself."

"Sorry—when did you lose him?" the medic asked, squinting with sympathy, but an interested gleam showed in his eye as he took in her slender figure. He towered over her, at least six four or five, wiping the sweat off his balding brow.

"I think I killed him..." she said, not really hearing what the medic had asked her. Carol was staring at the body of the Japanese soldier she had shot when he'd been about to open fire on the corpsman and the man with the leg wound, staying behind to harry the evacuation column while the rest of his men had fled into the jungle.

" _What?"_ The tall man frowned at her.

Carol started to move towards the Japanese soldier, but the medic grabbed her arm to halt her.

"What're you doing?" He asked.

"I need to check his vitals." Carol objected.

"Leave it." the big man said, "Go with the leg wound, that's an order." he looked down the path for the stretcher bearers to return to get their patient. "I'll check in with you when I get on board ship, Nurse...?"

"Carol; Lt. Carol Peletier." she said, reluctantly obeying his orders, stepping back to the stretcher so he had to release her arm. She looked back at the Japanese soldier, "He might not be—"

"I'm _Captain_ Peter Anderson... I'm the...I _was_ the chief surgeon here." he said and then with a quick grab pulled the gun from its place at her back and pushed her away from him.

"The war is _over_ , Captain." Carol reminded him, gesturing at the Japanese. "Obviously _they_ didn't get the news either."

"We started out here with a hundred and eight men and three nurses three months ago. Those Nip bastards killed _eighty-six_ of us." he told her, his voice cold. "Even if he'd not dead, he's _dead_."

Carol stared at him, understanding his anger, but unwilling to let him just shoot the dead or unconscious Japanese soldier who clearly no longer posed a threat.

"I gave you an order, Lieutenant, get back to the ship." Anderson said, raising the gun and pointing it at the man on the ground.

"You don't want to do this, Captain." Carol pulled out her trench knife in response and moved to stand in front of the surgeon, blocking him from the man into whom he was intent on putting more bullets.

"Stand down, Nurse." Anderson barked, waving the gun back at the man laying face down on the ground. "You're not one of us, you can't understand."

"What's going on, Cap?" a sailor dressed in jungle fatigues asked in a deceptively calm tone when he got close enough to see the situation. He was one of the men from the island base, almost as tall as the doctor, but his concerned eyes were kinder.

"Everything's five by five, Sergeant." the doctor replied, "Just making sure this fucking Jap is cold."

"Not sure why that would require you to pull a gun on such a fine lookin' nurse as that one, Doc—you piss this Florence Nightingale off same as you did the rest of them?" the Sergeant asked laconically. It was obvious the two men knew each other well.

"A nurse should show deference to her superior officers and be at all times feminine, Seabee." Anderson said with a bite of self righteousness. " _This one_ seems to think she has brass balls."

"Why don't we all just put away those weapons and _I'll_ deal with the prisoner." the Sergeant reasoned, slowly stepping closer to Anderson, "I'm sure they could use your surgical expertise with the rest of the casualties on board the ship, Captain."

Anderson preened at the flattery and started to lower the pistol.

In one quick move, Carol landed a brutal kick at the apex of the arrogant doctor's thighs, making his knees buckle, the gun falling from his suddenly boneless hand as he howled and moved both to cup his damaged privates.

The big Seabee scooped up the gun and whirled to point it at the surgeon, but Carol already had her knife to his throat.

"You're a _doctor!"_ Carol shouted at the Captain, "You took an oath to do no harm!"

" _Lieutenant!"_ the sailor said harshly, breaking through the haze of fury blinding Carol to everything else around them. "Stand down!"

Carol raised her eyes to his and he saw the furious anguished tears streaming from them and felt a wave of sympathy for what she was feeling.

"It's over." he told her and she slowly lowered the knife and let go of Anderson who collapsed to the dirt, curling into a fetal position.

"Take 'em both to evac." the Seabee instructed the amazed looking stretcher bearers and two more burly sailors from the ship who had just arrived on the scene. The grinning sailors lifted Anderson up none too gently and carried him, whimpering, feet dragging, after the stretcher.

"I'm sorry, Sergeant. He was out of his head... you don't kill the wounded—he... he had to have been out of his head." Carol said, staring uncomprehendingly after the Captain.

"Don't worry about it—he was an asshole from the day he was attached to our unit—when all the other ranking officers bought it in a raid last month he became our default C.O., but he was nothing but a ninety-day wonder."

"I guess I won't report you for striking a superior officer then." Carol almost smiled with relief, wiping away the remnants of her angry tears, "Thank you for your help, Sergeant." and then her face blanked, turning her attention to the Japanese soldier.

"He dead?" the Sergeant asked, his weapon still drawn.

"I don't know." Carol sighed, "I hope not..."

"Stay there." he told her and moved to the man's side, carefully leaning in and pressing two fingers to his neck with his left hand while holding the gun to his head with the other. He reached down and rolled the man face up and the blood stain on his chest seemed too small to have caused lethal damage.

When he looked up at Carol he shook his head from side to side.

" _Oh God..."_ Carol sagged, sheathing her knife. She turned away, resolutely taking a few steps towards the shore and then doubled over, vomiting up her dried egg and coffee breakfast.

The Seabee Sergeant rushed forward, supporting her with a careful arm around her middle, letting her do what she needed to.

"I gotcha—it's okay." he soothed, helping her to stand when she finished.

"Thank...thank you..." Carol said, wiping her mouth, choking on the taste of bile and the soreness in her throat.

"It was a clean shot, through the heart, he went fast. Best you can hope." He told her, pulling his canteen off his belt and unscrewing the lid before handing it to her, "You did what you had to do."

"I killed a man." Carol said, taking a sip from the canteen and swishing it around her mouth before spitting it into the dirt. "My job's supposed to be saving them."

"Your first?" he asked her with great sympathy.

"Hopefully my last." Carol said, her eyes haunted, taking a swallow of the water and then handing it back.

"War's over." the Sergeant nodded, "Should be the last for all of us. Came here to build a hospital and an airstrip and ended up fighting a guerilla jungle war with a crazy Jap."

"You're NCB?" Carol asked, looking for his service patch. Naval Construction Battalions were the equivalent of the Army Corps of Engineers, famous for their ability to get a base up and running in 90 days or build a pontoon bridge over night. They were highly skilled and though trained in combat tactics, usually not front line troops.

"That's right. Bunch of us got stuck here along with the doctors, corpsmen and a few nurses when the big battle for the island was over. Hospital needed repairs to take care of the wounded that were too bad off to evac. when the last ships left. Then the airfield was bombed to shit so no planes could land. We've been trying to work on both, but Ōba and his men harried us night and day. You're the first ship here since the radio went out. You're a sight for sore eyes, Lieutenant."

"Carol." she said, sticking out her hand. "Thank you for your help with Captain Anderson."

"Glad to meet you, Carol." he smiled at her as they shook hands, "Sergeant Tobin Maguire. My buddies call me Toby."

* * *

"She sure goes on about her new good buddy 'Toby' in them letters." Merle sniffed, reading over Daryl's shoulder as he sat on the porch steps of the farm house.

"Get your big fat nose outa my letters." Daryl snapped, folding the thin paper and shoving it back inside the envelope with a little more force than necessary and laying it down on the step beside him.

"She _ain't_ bringin' him back here." Merle announced in a fit of temper, "Already too many vets around here—like livin' at the USO—she keeps bringin' home strays like—"

"Like _you_?" Daryl grumbled, interrupting his brother. He'd had just about enough of Merle's continued interest on everything that had to do with Carol. The fact that the night they'd met she had brought _Daryl_ home as well went unsaid.

"I ain't no stray, _I'm_ your blood." Merle sniffed. "I'm just sayin' that there's way too many other men who seem to think your woman is something special to them. First it's that poppin' Jay Chief Monroe showing her around romantic Hawaiian beaches and now she's got some god damned _SeaBee_ hankering after her."

"He saved her life, Merle." Daryl said evenly, "If anything I should be thanking him."

" _You_ saved her life training her up the way you did. Hershel said you put her through boot camp out in them woods before she left." Merle disagreed. " _That's_ what kept her alive on that island with damn renegade Japs don't have the sense to know war is over."

Daryl had lost a lot of sleep thinking of Carol out there so close to danger on an island just south of where _he'd_ almost died. Her last two letters had been posted from the ship that was relieving all of the hospitals on the Pacific outpost island bases. She'd been fairly vague about what had happened on Saipan, saying only that she'd been on the wrong side of a hostage situation involving a Japanese hold out, but had made it through with the help of her new friend the combat engineer.

"Should fly right on out there and meet her ship, that's what you should do. Show this dick just who Peach belongs to." Merle said forcefully, clearing his throat and spitting off the porch. "Put that Romeo bastard Chief to work for _you_ for a change."

Carol's ship would be docking back in Hawaii in two weeks. Daryl knew that if he asked, Paul would make sure he was there to meet it there or in San Francisco where it would arrive three weeks after that. She was due back in Atlanta in one month's time, on December twentieth.

"She'll be home for Christmas." Daryl said evenly.

"You are _way_ too fucking patient to be _my_ brother." Merle scoffed. "You know Monroe's back on the mainland—he sent you that cable telling you he saw her in Hawaii—said whatever you needed he'll be there for you both. What you _need_ is to get over there and show old Toby what's what!"

"Give it a rest, Merle." Daryl said dismissively, standing.

"The fuck is wrong with you, boy?" Merle jumped up and went after him, getting in front of him and pushing him back with his good hand. "Don't you want her no more?"

"I love her with _everything_ I have _in me_ , Merle." Daryl said, his voice low and vehement, "And I _want_ what's best for her. I want her happiness. I hope that's with me, but if it isn't she deserves the right to find that out."

Merle made a scoffing noise.

"Unless she tells me she _wants_ me in Hawaii or California I stick to what we planned." Daryl said evenly. "We'll be together when she gets back to Georgia in December."

"I think you're making a mistake." Merle huffed.

"Well then it's mine to make." Daryl said quietly, standing up and looking out into the coming night. "I'm gonna go chop some wood. Winter's comin'."

Merle stood on the porch shaking his head, watching his brother head off into the twilight. The early evening breeze pushed at the envelope Daryl had left behind on the step and it fluttered like a wounded butterfly. Merle reached down and picked it up, his eyes narrowing, a small smile curling his lips.

* * *

"Got another letter?" Tobin asked, sitting across from Carol at the table in the mostly deserted mess hall, watching her face bloom into a smile when her friend Tara handed her several envelopes after mail call. The nurses on shift took turns going down and waiting after the sea plane arrived with its bulging sacks of V-mail because they couldn't all take off from duty at once. Mail was a lifeline, their only connection to home out on the ocean in the middle of nowhere.

She'd told him about her fiancé, the decorated ex-Marine sniper waiting back on some kind of idyllic peanut plantation or something in the Deep South; how they'd met, how much she loved him. The jarhead wrote on the regular, he had to give him that, but Tobin had one advantage that farmer boy didn't: he was _here_. He was the shoulder Carol cried on when her nightmares about what she'd had to do on Saipan kept her from sleeping. She trusted him. He had been there when it happened.

He knew Captain Anderson tormented her about it, calling her "killer" in what sounded like a light teasing tone, but seeing to it that she was assigned to what were considered some of the worst duties on ship, taking care of the worst off wounded, the basket cases, the ones with communicable diseases and those on suicide watch. They lost at least one man every day from one of her wards.

Carol never complained, but her friends saw the toll it was taking on her psyche. Tobin, Tara and Olivia did their best to make her down time meaningful with what passed for R&R on board ship, card games, shuffleboard, even co-ed dances when the USO tours caught up with them, but lately about the only thing that could make her smile was mail call.

Tobin saw the name _Dixon_ scrawled in the return address postmarked Georgia on the top of the stack.

"That from the clean Marine? Tell you how things goin' all right back on the peanut farm?" he asked, feigning benign indifference.

"It's beef not peanuts." Carol chided him for his teasing, but she was frowning as she looked at the envelope. "And this one isn't from Daryl—it's from his brother, Merle."

"Seven?" Tara grinned wryly, "That old asshole—I can't believe I sort of miss him."

Carol and she both laughed at that. Merle wasn't exactly an endearing figure in anyone's books, but he did grow on you. She carefully opened the first envelope and started to read.

Tobin watched as Carol's smile faded into concern and her forehead creased, the little vertical lines appearing between her elegant brows.

"Excuse me." she said in a distracted voice and then stood and left the room. Tobin stood as if to go after her, but Tara stopped him with a sharp bark of a single word,

" _No."_

"But if it's bad news—"

"It's not your job to comfort her." Tara said sternly. "Don't deny it—I know what you're about—I should've put a stop to it before this."

"So you think it's _yours_?" Tobin asked, sitting back down and leaning back in his chair, a slight calculating smirk on his bland face. "You think she wants _you_?"

"I think something happened to her when she was with you on Saipan that she doesn't want to talk about and I know you think that gives you an in with her." Tara said, raising her chin in challenge.

"She needs me." Tobin declared smugly. "I understand what she's going through."

"No, you're using whatever happened to get close to her; to push your way into her life and push everyone else out." Tara said, growing colder in her anger, "She already had one relationship like that—someone who preyed on her vulnerabilities, isolated her from her friends—and if she wasn't so down from whatever's wrong she'd realize that."

"What are you talking about?" Tobin asked, confusion beginning to mar his smugness.

"How close are you really if she's never even told you about her first husband?" Tara said, standing and putting both hands, palms down on the table so she could lean in. "Leave my friend alone, Sergeant Maguire."

 _Peach,_

 _Hope you can read my chicken scratches. Thought about someone writing down what I say, but this is private shit I go to say to you, so you'll have to cipher it best you can._

 _Did something I wasn't supposed to. Read the boy's mail. He left it lying around so maybe he wanted me to, hell I don't know, but I did._

 _You hurt him, Peach, cut him to the bone. Didn't mean to I reckon, but you did._

 _I know how you are. You care about people and that gets you into "situations." First writing and telling him you got kissed by that candy ass Monroe and now every other word is about your new dear buddy the CB. If you want my brother to wait for you, better get your head out of your ass and stay away from other men._

 _My brother loves you, says he trusts you and you know he ain't gonna say one word about any of this to you, but you don't see the hurt in his eyes, how he's hollowing out more every day without you here._

 _You tell Monroe you want Daryl to meet you in Hawaii and we both know he'll make that happen. Please, I'm asking you as his brother and someone who cares about you both_ _send for him now_ _. Christmas is too late. Show him he's the only one you want._

 _Your brother too-  
Merle_

* * *

AN: _So yes, it was fun having porch dick surgeon Pete see the point at the end of Carol's trench knife, but having to kill someone is weighing heavy on her conscience, giving clueless construction worker Tobin an opening to step in to comfort her when we all know her true sweetie-pie is absent Daryl. Go Tara & Merle for having Carol's back!_

The first part of the story is based on the real story of Captain Sakae Ōba, known as the "Fox of Saipan." After Japanese forces were defeated in the Battle of Saipan, he led a group of 46 soldiers and 200 civilians deep into the jungle to evade capture by Allied forces. Under Ōba's leadership, the group survived for over a year after the battle and finally surrendered in December 1945, three months after the war had ended. They had continued to make raids on the Marines stationed at the base there until shortly before their surrender. It took the arrival of the former Japanese general who had been Ōba's commanding officer to convince him that the war was really over.

Don Jones, a former U.S. Marine stationed on Saipan and once part of a group ambushed by Ōba's men, was intrigued by the story of the Japanese holdouts and sought out Ōba after the war. With Ōba's cooperation, Jones wrote a book about his experiences on Saipan; the English version was published in 1986 under the title _Oba, The Last Samurai: Saipan 1944–1945_. Jones became a lifelong friend of the Ōba family. wiki/Sakae_%C5%8Cba

More than 325,000 men served with the Seabees in World War II, fighting and building on six continents and more than 300 islands. In the Pacific, where most of the construction work was needed, the Seabees landed soon after the Marines and built airstrips, bridges, roads, gasoline storage tanks, and Quonset huts for warehouses, hospitals, and housing. They often operated under fire and frequently were forced to take part in the fighting to defend themselves and their construction projects. In the Pacific Theater they built 111 major airstrips and 441 piers, tanks for the storage of 100 m gallons of fuel, housing for 1.5 million men and hospitals for 70,000 patients. _"The Workshop Heroes"_ _. The Economist. 2013-03-02_ _._


	19. Chapter 19

Paul Monroe arrives at the Greene farm for a possibly life changing visit with the Dixon brothers.

WWII slang:  
 _Behavior report:_ letter from your girl back home  
 _Hot dish_ : beautiful girl  
 _Belay that:_ stop it  
 _Dead nuts:_ crazy about  
 _Make us Jake:_ make us even

* * *

"Now that there's what I call a real hot dish." the annoyingly talkative dirty blonde skinny kid who'd sat beside him on the skiff coming into Pearl said with a low whistle and an exaggerated nudge to his shoulder.

Scowling, Daryl looked over at the swabbie, who'd introduced himself as Dwight, the coffee stain on the bib of his otherwise pristine whites continuing to annoy as it had from the moment he'd flopped down onto the bench asking if he could bum a smoke. He'd kept up a constant stream of inane chatter until Daryl wished they were seated just a little closer to the edge of the deck... the kid was a sailor, he had to be able to swim, right?

They were just docking and then would wait for the order to disembark. Daryl fingered the strings of the ditty bag at his feet and rolled his shoulders, the jacket of his uniform feeling tight over them because of the extra few pounds he'd put on over the last months, mostly muscle, from working on the farm. Being back in uniform was part of the concessions he'd had to make to allow this trip.

* * *

When Master Sergeant Paul Monroe had showed up at the Greene farm in Georgia just a week and a half after Carol's last letter, Daryl had known Merle had something to do with it. He'd been sticking his nose in, flapping his gums until Daryl told him if he said one more thing about something that wasn't his business, he didn't care if he was missing _both_ arms and legs; Daryl was going to knock his brother on his ass.

"Ain't my doin'!" Merle had protested, shoving Daryl back, "Fucker just showed up."

Monroe had more than one reason for coming, it was true. He'd also come to bring a message for Johnny that had the potential to change his life.

After all the words of welcome and introductions had been made, Paul asked Merle and Daryl if he'd come with him to talk to the young man they'd taken on as another brother. John looked worried when Monroe, looking serious in his dress uniform, holding his cover in his hands, asked him to sit with him in the parlor of the big farm house, wondering if he'd done something wrong. Daryl and Merle sat on either side of him on the big sofa, Paul opposite them in an arm chair he'd pulled close.

"I been doin' real good on my schooling." John said to Monroe nervously, looking to both sides to encompass both Merle and Daryl in his gaze as well, "Passed my last math test with a good solid B+."

"I've heard how well you're doing, John." Paul smiled at him. That was part of the reason he was here. That despite the brain injury and continuing amnesia, the young medic had been able to _learn_ what to him were new skills and knowledge so well. The regular reports from his tutors and Daryl had finally convinced the boy's wife that she was ready to see him.

"So you ain't here to take me back?" Johnny asked, starting to look a bit relieved. That had been his biggest fear, that he wouldn't measure up and someone would show up to take him back to the booby hatch—the mental ward—on the ship.

"No... Not that, son... but I do have something to tell you... some news... I think it's _good_ news, but it's going to be a big surprise to you." Paul said carefully, his voice easy and calm.

"That why my brothers are here too?"

"That's right." Merle said quickly, reaching up to pat Johnny on the back with his good hand and then letting it rest there reassuringly. He exchanged a look with Daryl who nodded at him in solidarity. They'd taken the kid into their family and weren't going to abandon him now.

"You still don't remember anything, that right?" Monroe asked John, who nodded no, looking sad. "Well, we've found out something... we've found some _one_ important to you."

"To _me_?" Johnny looked confused.

"Monroe?" Daryl asked.

Paul looked at Daryl and nodded, giving him permission to break the news, but Merle jumped in first.

"One thing you gotta know—no matter what, you're our brother—you got that, boy?" the eldest Dixon rasped, hiding his emotions behind gruffness.

"Sure Merle." John nodded, but a deep frown etched his brow.

"Turns out you were married, John." Daryl told him.

"I _was_?" Johnny said, his eyes going wide in disbelief. He slowly reached up and touched the indentation in his skull, now mostly obscured by his thick golden blonde hair. "How could I forget somethin' like that?"

Monroe opened the envelope he'd taken from his briefcase before they'd sat down and pulled out a photograph, hesitating before he handed it over.

Johnny leaned forward and reached out his hand, grasping the picture and then holding it reverently. In it he stood smiling proudly in his dress blues, his arm around an equally happy lovely young blonde in a fitted sky blue satin tea length gown, a fascinator style hat and veil in the same color perched on her head, a small bouquet of pink rose buds in her hand. His brow furrowed even deeper as he struggled to remember and then he sighed, turning to Daryl.

"That's me." he sighed in recognition and turned the photo over, written in a scrawled hand was: _My Bonnie,_ and then printed underneath it, _Mr. & Mrs. C.E. Nelson Wedding Day, October 11, 1943." _he read aloud and his mouth turned down as he looked up at the Master sergeant.

"That's your name. Navy Pharmacist's Mate 2nd class Clyde Edward Nelson, from Tamarack, Minnesota." Paul explained.

"I don't understand... my name's John Dixon." John said, sounding bewildered.

"No boy, it ain't." Merle said, his mouth quirking sideways and squeezing the younger man's shoulder. "We didn't think you had nobody... so we sorta adopted you."

"So I'm not really a Dixon?" the boy looked heartbroken.

"Merle told you—you're our brother in every way that counts." Daryl said quickly, "You got a home here with us as long as you like."

John swallowed hard but nodded, accepting what Daryl said. Then his hand holding the photograph trembled as he focused on it, trying to will his memories of the girl beside him in the portrait into his consciousness.

"Where is she?" he asked Monroe, still looking at the photo.

"Do you want to see her?" Paul asked.

Johnny slowly nodded.

"You sure?" Merle asked.

"If she... if my Bonnie still wants me." the young sailor said self deprecatingly, again touching the place on his head where the wound had scrambled his sense of self, "I ain't much of a prize these days."

Monroe and Daryl exchanged a pointed look while Merle told Johnny to just " _belay that kinda shit_."

None of them wanted to tell him about the months his wife had known about his survival before she decided to make contact with him.

"She wants to see you." Paul assured him. "She's waiting to hear if it's what _you_ want... if it is, she'll take the train to Atlanta and meet you there."

Bonnie had asked them not to tell him about the baby; preferring to just show him, hoping it might jar loose some memories.

"My Bonnie..." Johnny whispered a bit wonderingly, touching the surface of the photo with just the tips of his fingers.

* * *

Accepting Hershel's invitation to stay for supper Paul effusively complimented Patricia and Sun's cooking, charming everyone, even coaxing a smile from taciturn Beth. After the meal he asked Daryl if he could see him the work that Merle had been doing with Abraham for the prosthetic design business and so the two men went out to the barn.

"Where do you want it?" Daryl asked flatly as soon as they were alone, rolling up his sleeves.

"She sent you a behavior report about Hawaii." Monroe said, his mouth twisting wryly, crossing his arms and leaning against the side of the stall door. "Figured she would."

"Thought we were friends, Monroe." Daryl drawled, cracking the knuckles on both hands, "Friends don't try to move in on each other's girl."

"She's dead nuts on you." Monroe shrugged, "I never had a chance."

"But you still tried." Daryl stepped closer, his fists raised and his feet set apart in a boxing stance.

"Not the face?" Monroe asked, squinting and standing up straight, "Or the dick..."

"You think I'd _punch_ you in the _dick?"_ Daryl scoffed, squinting back at him.

"Could think of other things I'd _much_ rather have you do with it..." Paul allowed with a cheeky grin.

Daryl stopped the thought with a solid gut punch, doubling the Master Chief over.

" _Fuck!"_ Monroe wheezed, arms crossed tightly over his belly, leaning his ass back against the stall wall behind him to stay upright.

"You okay?" Daryl asked, but kept his fists up in a defensive posture.

"Deserved it and more." Monroe choked out, trying to catch his breath. When he was finally able to come fully upright again he reached in his jacket pocket and handed Daryl a thick envelope. "This should make us Jake."

Daryl frowned but opened the envelope. What he found inside shocked him: it was a set of travel orders.

"What the hell did you do, Monroe?" Daryl asked when he was finally able to speak.

"You're reactivated and temporarily attached to the Naval Inspector General Corps., special duty assignment running weapons inventory on the USS Hope and its escort fleet, shipping out immediately." Paul explained with a sly twinkle in his eyes.

Daryl's expertise with all types of arms and weaponry made it a believable duty, but he couldn't imagine the strings that had to have been pulled to put this into motion.

"The Hope?" Daryl breathed, shaking his head in quiet disbelief as he stared at the orders. "You got me duty stationed on Carol's ship?"

"Got you a ticket to San Francisco and from there on a transport ship to Pearl Harbor. You should be there by the end of next week. They'll have already been docked a day or two, but I have some friends there who will look after her until you arrive."

"She knows I'm comin', right?" Daryl asked, hesitant now. Like he'd told Merle, he wasn't going to force himself into her life—whether or not they were going to be together was all on her. He knew she had other options and loved her enough to let her choose.

"No—she'll think it's _me_ she's coming to meet when the ship docks." Paul said with a smile, "It'll be the best kind of surprise for her!"

"What if she doesn't want me there?" Daryl said, quietly giving voice to his fears, his hand tightening on the papers he held, crumpling them.

"She's crazy about you, Dix. Believe me—I made extra sure before I let her go—there's only one guy for that gal, and that's you."

"You haven't seen her since Saipan." Daryl said darkly, hinting at his suspicions that she'd been less than forthcoming about what had happened on the small island so far from home.

"No, but I've had letters from her friend Tara—something went wrong—I think something bad happened to her on that island. She needs _you_ , buddy." Paul told him adamantly.

Tara had voiced her concerns about Carol's depression and how the man Carol thought was her friend was using it to insinuate himself into her life under the guise of support. She'd asked for both Merle and Monroe's help in convincing Daryl to come to Hawaii when the Hope returned there.

"She'll think I don't believe in her... that I don't trust her..." Daryl grimaced in frustration. He wanted to see her more than anything, but she had been so strong in her conviction that she had to do this on her own. How could he go against her wishes?

"She _needs_ you." Monroe said forcefully, his frustration rising when Daryl shook his head and then held out the envelope, trying to return it to the Chief.

" _If you won't go to her, I will."_

The angry gruff voice from the doorway brought both men's heads up.

Merle.

"If you're too chicken shit to put aside your god damned pride and _go_ you don't deserve her." his brother seethed, reaching for the envelope, but Daryl pulled it back out of Merle's reach.

" _Pride?"_ Daryl exclaimed, "I been trying to do the right thing by her!"

"The right thing is getting to her as quick as you can before she falls apart and that asshole been sniffing round her steps in to pick up the pieces." Merle said, "That nurse Tara wrote us both—it's way worse than Carol ever lets on in her letters to you, brother."

Daryl looked to Monroe for confirmation.

"She _needs_ you, Daryl." Monroe repeated.

Daryl held his gaze for a long moment and then his head fell forward, his fear for Carol coming to the surface.

"All right." Daryl finally said, his voice hoarse with emotion.

* * *

After that things happened fast. Packing, making arrangements for his work on the business end of the farm to be covered, hitching a ride on a demobilization troop train originating in Kansas City heading to the coast, returning men to their families at every stop until they reached San Francisco, then boarding the huge supply ship heading for the Pacific, first stop Hawaii.

He'd read and reread every letter Carol had sent him since she'd shipped out, and had also asked for and been given the ones she'd written to Beth, Maggie and Hershel. Between them and the ones Tara had sent Paul and Merle asking for their help, he could see how their tone had changed, darkened, over the last few months. The letters themselves had gotten shorter as well, as if the effort of trying to be upbeat and recount her days had gotten to be too much for her.

He had no illusions that caring for the wounded and dying held many pleasant moments, but in the ones she'd sent before Saipan she'd always found a sense of optimism, making the most of even the smallest victory—the fresh eggs from the chickens on some speck of an island they'd visited, the spelling bee with nurses besting the doctors—to the larger ones, like the Marine who hadn't been paralyzed after all, once the swelling had gone down from his spinal injury.

Her latest letters were full of reminisces about their times together at the farm or in DC, Atlanta, or San Francisco or simply a listing of the places where the ship had stopped with dry accounts of what she'd done there or inane short accounts of what film they showed on cinema night or which USO troupe had come on board and what Tara and Tobin had thought of it.

There was no talk of the _future_ in these newest letters though; that realization had filled him with dread once he'd realized it.

* * *

"Hey—Dixon? That's you right?" Dwight practically shouted to be heard above the rising engine noise, nudging him again, this time in the ribs.

Annoyed, Daryl glared at the skinny sailor, but the kid gave him an exaggerated roll of his eyes and toss of the head towards the dock just as the skiff bumped up hard against the dock floats and the pilot and crew threw the lines up to be tied off. When the engine finally cut out, the silence was almost deafening.

"I'd like to be the meat that dame's meetin' if you catch my drift." Dwight leered with enough oily lechery that Daryl finally let his eyes search for the hot dish dame in question.

One corner of Daryl's mouth curved up and he quickly reached up and straightened his cover before grabbing his bag and standing tall. Both men watched as the woman scanned the crowd of Marines, soldiers and sailors waiting their turn to disembark, her eyes widening in disbelief as she recognized one, a hand going to her throat as the other went to the arm of another dark haired woman standing beside her, needing the support as her knees almost buckled.

Dwight watched Dixon spring off the skiff and onto the dock as if he'd been shot out of a canon, the red head that he'd had his eye on practically leaping into Daryl's arms.

"Shoulda' known." Dwight griped. "Fuckin' Marines always get there first."

* * *

 **Thanks for reading!** Caryl reunion (finally!) in next chapter.

 **S7 Spoiler Alert:** A little happy for you before the S7 Premiere, which will be anything but. Frankly I'm not seeing much in the spoilers for this season that would entice me back into watching. At this point I'm so very cynical that I don't even trust that the much anticipated episode 10 will give us the Caryl that them filming together seems to imply.

Watching the TWD marathon over the last week has really saddened me when I see how they have squandered & dropped what could've been fascinating and powerful story lines in favor of the cheap thrills 9 times out of 10. We can't survive dark ugly downer comic book plot driven crap 24/7! There has to be some sort of hope that grows out of relationships these people have built with one another over years.


	20. Chapter 20

_Caryl reunion continues._

WWII Slang:  
 **Bottled Sunshine:** Beer  
 **Duck Soup** : An easy task  
 **Give It the Deep Six:** Forget it; keep it a secret

* * *

"Why didn't Ezekiel want to come with us?" Carol asked Morgan as they headed out to his sedan in the parking area in front of the club. She and Tara had spent last night as guests in his home at the start of their week long leave from the USS Hope. Today the ship bringing Master Sergeant Paul Monroe back to Hawaii was due to dock at Pearl Harbor and they were heading into town to meet it.

"He had some other business to take care of." Morgan said with a bland vagueness that immediately made Carol suspicious.

"What is it? I would've thought wild horses couldn't have kept him from meeting Paul's ship." Carol pressed. She looked ahead to the cars where Tara stood quietly arguing with Tobin, who was frowning, his arms crossed in front of him, as he watched them approach.

"He doesn't like the Seabee." Morgan admitted in a low voice, slowing his steps to a standstill.

"Tobin?" Carol's brows went together in confusion. He had shown up last night at Oz with a few of his fellow engineers, curious about where Carol, Tara and Olivia had gone after leaving the ship. He was the only one who had stayed past the first drag act, and then it was obvious he was only there for Carol, staying glued to her side and trying to ignore the rest of the rather wild surroundings in which he'd found himself. When he heard they would be heading down to the dock to meet Monroe's ship today he had asked if he could tag along and no one could think of a reason to refuse him.

"To quote my brother, he's a boring beige tree who has the hots for another guy's woman, which makes him a dick." Morgan said fighting the smile that hovered around his lips.

"I thought Zeke didn't like me." Carol gave him a quizzical look. "Why should he care?"

"Monroe told him just what's what before he left." Morgan explained, "Ezekiel knows all about your Daryl and he was charmed to hear of your love story. He's actually a very sweet guy under all the crazy."

Carol smiled, absently twisting the small silver and shell ring she wore on her left hand as soon as Morgan said Daryl's name. She had it down to the hour and minute when she'd be back in Atlanta, back on the farm, home with the man she loved.

"Huh—yeah, I know that look—I get that same look on my face when I talk about my Jenny and lil' Duane." Morgan grinned and looped his arm through hers to steer her towards the waiting car. "That's a love stuck look if I ever did see one."

Carol blushed and ducked her head shyly. She knew she couldn't ever hope to hide her feelings about Daryl from her friends. It shone out from her. Even Tobin had to see it.

"I hope you get to meet him someday, all of you." she said wistfully. The odds she and Daryl could ever afford the passage back here to paradise were slim to none, but it would make the perfect honeymoon destination.

"You never know, Carol." Morgan mused thoughtfully, "You never know."

The traffic going into Pearl was terrible—in addition to Monroe's ship another three were also coming into harbor today making the already hectic pace of the huge military docks even more frantic. Tobin and Morgan worked almost like linebackers, helping Carol and Tara to push through the unruly crowd to reach the edge of the dock so they could have a view of the skiffs ferrying men and materials off the three huge transport and supply craft in the bay. They had brought flower leis made by one of the waitresses at the Club with them, enjoying the tradition that Paul had introduced them to when they'd arrived the first time.

"Did Olivia get going for her date on time?" Tobin asked, just to make conversation while they waited. The third nurse had been AWOL from their little group fairly often recently after meeting a rather unusual member of another Seabee squad that was stationed on the Hope.

"She most certainly did." Tara said with satisfaction. "Duck soup."

"Guess there's somebody for everybody..." Tobin shrugged, pulling a face. "Damn guy can do calculations in his head takes me a slide-rule to even attempt."

"Eugene is... unique..." Morgan ventured.

" _Special."_ Carol added more kindly, making them all smile. "And he's so sweet to Olivia you have to like him."

After despairing over ever finding someone, Olivia had met Eugene in the ship's mess when they had both reached for the same bar of chocolate. They'd been practically inseparable ever since.

"Carol?" Tara asked, realizing that her friend's attention had been captured by the arrival of one of the skiffs from the docked ships.

Carol reached over and grabbed hold of Tara's arm, her other hand going to her mouth.

"Carol? Is it your friend?" Tobin asked with concern as she swayed on her feet, but before he could reach for her she was moving, pulling away from Tara and launching herself into the arms of a tall Marine who'd caught her in midstride as he tossed away his ditty bag and pulled the cover off his head. Laughing, he swung her around and then kissed her soundly before even setting her down on her feet.

" _Oh my God, oh my God!"_ Carol cried as he grinned down at her, "What are you _doing_ here?"

"Hello sweetheart." Daryl said in a soft voice brimming with emotion, unable to resist kissing her again, her forehead, both cheeks and eyes and then her lips, slowly and gently, holding her face in his hands.

Carol sighed and leaned into him resting her hands on his chest, feeling his body's heat all the way through his uniform. He looked much the same as he had the night they met, though he had an odd white line at his neck, showing that his hair had been shorn shorter after its tan had been earned by long days working in the hot Georgia sun. Her hands rose delicately to his nape, smiling as she felt the fresh stubble under her fingers.

Daryl shivered.

"This must be your Daryl." Morgan said smoothly when the intimate moment went on, Carol and Daryl's attention so focused on one another they'd forgotten they weren't alone.

Coming back to themselves they moved slightly apart, but his hand found hers, his thumb rubbing over her ring and that hint of a smile at the side of his mouth stayed on his face as he turned to meet Carol's friends.

"And you must be Morgan. Master Sergeant Monroe said you'd be escorting Carol here today. Thank you." Daryl said, courteously holding out his hand, which Morgan shook firmly.

"Real pleasure to finally meet you, young man." Morgan replied, flashing Tara and then Carol a quick grin.

"You _knew!_ " Carol accused them both and then laughed at their smug faces.

"It gets better." Tara said, and then thrust her chin out at Daryl, "Tell her why you're back in uniform."

"I been wondering that myself." a curious new voice piped up. Tobin was looking at Daryl with a single raised eyebrow.

"Oh—I'm sorry—Daryl this is our friend, Sergeant Tobin Maguire." Carol said apologetically.

"The Seabee." Daryl said, just the slightest hesitation before extending his hand to shake not lost on the other man as they both sized each other up.

"That's right." Tobin said, looking Daryl up and down, settling his critical gaze on the many ribbons that covered his uniform breast, including the special insignia for the Medal of Honor that few men could claim. "I thought you slid out a hero after your big White House photo op."

Daryl's left eye narrowed even as he gave a close mouth smile, aware of the implied slight. He'd won the nation's highest military honor and Maguire had just reduced it to a publicity stunt.

"Reactivated and temporarily attached to the Naval Inspector General Corps., special duty assignment running weapons inventory on the USS Hope and its escort fleet." Daryl recited.

" _The Hope?"_ Carol squeaked, tugging on Daryl's hand to turn him back towards him, her mouth coming open. "Daryl!" and then she was hugging him again.

Looking over her shoulder Daryl met Tara's eyes, nodding in acknowledgement of her silently mouthed, _"Thank you."_

Morgan looked pointedly at Tobin, whose sour expression revealed at once how he felt about this latest development. As the Seabees' eyes met his, Jones gave him a narrow eyed look of warning.

* * *

"That asshole Captain still giving her scut duty?" Daryl asked Tara as they sat across from one another at one of the picnic tables set up on the beach, watching Carol talking to Morgan's wife Jenny while she held her baby, Duane. He felt his heart skip a beat at how happy she looked even through her sadness. And she was _overwhelmingly_ sad... even through her joy at his arrival he sensed that the same disposition he'd felt when they first met had taken her over again, she was in mourning, looking back instead of forward. Whatever had happened on Saipan had deeply affected her, down to her soul.

"Anderson? Yes, he is, as often as he can get away with it. Head ward nurse rotates through three women on the three shifts—if it's Lerner she goes along with whatever the Captain says."

"So about a third of the time she gets the worst of the worst in duty." Daryl grumbled. He knew how the chain of command worked.

"That's about the size of it." Tara nodded. "But it's only part of the problem..." her gaze settled on Tobin who was staring broodingly at Carol and nursing a beer while leaning against one of the beach palms near the shoreline.

"He sure enough is a _big_ son of a bitch." Daryl said appraisingly, as if measuring the other man's reach for a prize fight.

"He does care about her you know." Tara said a bit grudgingly, "It's obvious they went through something together..."

"She still giving it the deep six?"

"She's not telling me, but I'm not _you._.." Tara smiled knowingly, "And now that you're here, I'd say you have some means I _don't_ to get to the truth."

Daryl blinked at her and rubbed at his non-existent chin whiskers, unsure if that was a dick reference.

Tara winked at him.

Daryl blew out a snort at her.

"You're a dilly aren't you?" he said, leaning back with a laugh and then standing so he could bend down and plant a fond kiss on her cheek. "Thanks for having her back."

"Always." Tara smiled, "Now go get our girl."

"First things first." Daryl shook his head and headed down the beach.

"Not sure that's such a good idea..." Ezekiel said to his brother as he watched Daryl making his way toward Tobin.

"Has to happen," Morgan said calmly. "We'll stop it if it gets out of hand." He looked over at Jenny who hadn't yet noticed Daryl's movement, but saw that Carol was tracking him with quick side-eyed concerned glances even as she carried on their conversation. She made no move to stop him though, so Ezekiel took his cue from her as well as Morgan; watching and waiting.

Tobin straightened while simultaneously draining the last of his beer and tossing the empty bottle down to the base of the tree where it clinked against three others. Pulling a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket he tapped them on the palm of his opposite hand and offered Daryl one of the two that came out of the top opening.

Daryl waved him off and Tobin lifted the pack to his own mouth and put one of the cigarettes between his lips. Daryl pulled out a silver lighter and held the flame up, shielding it from the wind and Tobin leaned in to light his smoke and then put the foil pack away. Daryl snapped the lighter shut and restored it to his pocket.

"It's over." Daryl said, looking out to the waves rolling onto the shore, high breakers roughing up crests of foam.

"Yeah?" Tobin asked flatly, blowing out a smoke trail. "What's that?"

"You. Her." Daryl intoned, matching the lack of affect.

"You think I've been screwing your girl." Tobin smirked, looking pleased and a little pie-eyed, tapping the ash off down to the cherry and taking another long drag.

"I think you _want_ to, and you've been using what happened on Saipan to get close enough to her to try." Daryl said.

Since that pretty much hit the nail on the head Tobin ignored it, exhaling the smoke right into Daryl's face.

"She trushts me." he said instead. "I been here for her."

"I'm here now." Daryl returned, not moving a muscle.

"We have a bond; what we went through." Tobin asserted, taking a step forwards and using his cigarette to point at Daryl's chest.

" _I'm_ here now." Daryl repeated. "Whatever happened, _happened_ and I'm here for her."

"She didn't write you 'bout it?" Tobin asked with a small smirk on his broad face as he looked over where Carol sat, now holding the small boy who reached up chubby fingers to try capturing the curls that had escaped from her upswept do. "What makeshu think she's gonna tell you now?"

Daryl just stared at him stoically.

"Face it, jarhead, you're too late." Tobin said smugly, tapping out his cigarette against the trunk of the tree and flicking the butt away. " _I'm_ what she needs now."

"I'll let her be the one to tell me that." Daryl said dismissively, "Until then, let's get you a ride to take you back to wherever you're bunking."

"I can drive... drove a base Jeep out here." the other man said belligerently, pointing a meaty fist towards the parking lot and swaying.

"You're a big man, Sergeant, but that's quite a few empties of bottled sunshine at your feet." Daryl said, reaching down to pick one up and upending it to pour out a few leftover golden drops. He reached out his other hand to take Tobin's arm, trying to steady him.

"Be fine—get off me!" Tobin said as he stumbled back, racking his back and head against the tree.

Carol leapt to her feet, handing the baby back to his mother and started running towards the two men. Morgan and Ezekiel were right on her heels, almost but not quite outpacing her with their longer strides, reaching the tree just as Tobin recovered enough to take a swing at Daryl.

" _No!"_ Carol cried, unfortunately distracting Daryl enough that he didn't see the Seabee's fist in time to duck, taking a hard blow to his jaw as he turned his head in her direction.

" _Damn it."_ Morgan muttered, watching Daryl stagger from the blow, but come up in a fighter's stance, fists raised. Maguire may have had a good eight inches of reach on him, but Daryl was fighting for Carol, and he wasn't about to lose.

Three quick jabs to the midsection doubled Tobin over and an upper cut to the chin finished him off, toppling like the big plastered tree he was.

" _Daryl!"_ Carol murmured in dismay, hands on hips, looking down at the unconscious Seabee.

"He started it." Daryl said, rubbing his sore jaw with his sore hand and trying to look pitiful, almost pouting.

Carol knelt to check Tobin's pulse; finding it strong and steady she sighed and stood. Without a word she turned and headed back up the beach.

"We'll get him back to the club office—there's a couch in there where he can sleep it off." Morgan said, motioning to Ezekiel and Daryl to help.

"Just leave him there," Ezekiel disagreed, crossing his arms, his mouth turned down in disgust.

"He could aspirate." Daryl said with a reluctant huff, knowing Carol would be upset if the man choked to death on his own vomit. "Let's get him up."

* * *

"Your friend is fine." Daryl told Carol as he came into the bedroom of the small guest bungalow that she, Olivia and Tara had been sharing. She nodded at him and held out an ice bag that Jenny had brought over from the main house.

Looking wary Daryl took it from her. He noticed that she had hung the sweet smelling floral garland she'd given him at the docks along with several others over the rungs of the brass head board and the effect was to lend the look of a bower to the room.

"If you're going to yell at me, can it wait until morning?" he asked, holding the ice to his jaw.

"I'm not going to yell at you." Carol told him, her face placid with a hint of a patient smile playing at the sides of her mouth.

"We need to talk." Daryl said quietly, sitting down next to her on the bed.

"I haven't seen my husband in months. Talk comes later... _much_ later..."she said, smiling and reaching up and loosening his neck tie.

" _Sweetheart... stop."_ Daryl moved his free hand up to close over hers, his concern for her emotional state overriding his need for her.

"I'm not angry with you—Tobin—I've never seen him drink that much—he was out of line and you did what you had to." Carol blinked at him, frowning in confusion.

"This isn't about the Seabee, well, maybe indirectly... it's about what you went through... when you met on that island." Daryl told her, "Saipan."

Carol closed her eyes and winced.

"What did they do to you there?" he asked softly.

" _To_ me? Nothing." Carol said, her voice slow and sad.

Daryl raised her hand to his lips for a comforting kiss and felt how much it was shaking.

"You're not good though, are you?" he asked, pulling away enough so he could look directly at her.

"No." her lower lip trembling as she gazed at him with wide sad eyes.

"Com'ere." he murmured, and engulfed her in his embrace.

* * *

 _AN: Hopefully in this version Daryl will be more successful at getting Carol to open up about what is troubling her. Thanks for reading!_


End file.
